The Long Journey Home: the Third Season
by jetsly
Summary: While Kara Thrace resumes the journey to Earth, and Natalie Six and John Bierns carry the war to the Cavils, on New Caprica humans and Cylons daily struggle to overcome their heritage of hatred and bigotry.
1. Chapter 1: Double Trouble

**DISCLAIMER:** _Battlestar Galactica_ is the creation of Glen A. Larson, and the reimagined universe of _Battlestar Galactica 2003_ is the intellectual property of Ronald D. Moore and David Eick. I do not own the rights to the Battlestar Galactica stories or characters. This is an AU work; no copyright infringement is intended, nor is any profit being made. This author does, however, reserve the rights to characters and plots of his own creation.

**NOTES:** The now complete first and second seasons of The Long Journey Home (both last posted on 14 October, 2011) open by branching off from a scene in the season one episode "Six Degrees of Separation," which was more elaborately treated in "The Plan." However, the story actually deviates from canon 35 years before the holocaust, and will remain largely non-canon until it reaches a distinctly different conclusion at the end of season four. Like the series itself, therefore, this story will continue to unfold by seasons, and to date it has attempted to honor the series breaks as closely as possible. However, while the chapters that follow in this, the third season, will start on New Caprica, the stand alone episodes that were such an integral part of BSG's third year will be ignored here in favor of a continuing focus upon the main themes and plot threads developed in the first two seasons of this story. For those who have not yet read them, the first two seasons can be easily accessed via "All" for the rating, and "Number Six" for the lead character.

Reviews in general, and constructive criticism in particular, will always be welcome. I WELCOME REVIEWS IN PORTUGUESE, SPANISH, FRENCH, ITALIAN, LATIN, GERMAN, AND THAI AS WELL AS ENGLISH.

**CHRONOLOGY: **Readers will find a timeline for the first two seasons in chapter 48 of season two. Since the story does not employ a strictly chronological format, this may at times be useful.

**WARNING:** Some chapters do have adult content, including violence and sexual situations. Individual warnings will preface each such chapter whenever the content so warrants.

**THE LONG JOURNEY HOME**

**THE THIRD SEASON**

CHAPTER 1

DOUBLE TROUBLE

**Day 298 ACH**

**10:12 Hours**

**Battlestar **_**Galactica**_

Danny Novacek shuffled through the hatchway, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The Admiral's quarters were wreathed in shadow, and the darkness caused his head to swim. He had spent seven years in a brightly lit cage on the Cylon baseship, and the lights in _Galactica's _brig were never turned down. The play of light and dark in so confined a space confused and disoriented him.

The lieutenant was heavily manacled, and under equally heavy guard. Three marines in full armor, their assault rifles constantly at the ready, had escorted him to his meeting with the Cylon queen. This was how the blond-haired Sixes in the adjacent cell referred to Shelly Adama, and Novacek was content to go with this particular flow. Having Saul Tigh come back from the dead had pushed him to the brink of madness, but he had clamped down hard, sucked it up, and put on his game face. The Cylons had never beaten him, and he wasn't about to let Adama's toaster whore get under his skin. Danny Novacek had endured worse … a lot worse.

A figure stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the room, and walked slowly towards him. The Six had blond hair, neither long nor short, but what drew the eye was the roundness of her stomach. Bulldog knew quite a bit about the birds and the bees, and he reckoned that Shelly Adama was in her fifth or sixth month.

"Sit down, Lieutenant," the Six brusquely commanded. She pointed in the direction of the couch. One of the marines brought up a chair, and Shelly sat down on the opposite side of the coffee table. She looked over at Brandy Harder.

"Sergeant, if he attempts to get up without permission… shoot him in the knees." Shelly's voice was ice cold.

The Cylon queen stared at Novacek, openly taking his measure. There was no compassion in her eyes, no mercy … but in Bulldog's private universe that was par for the course. On the baseship, the Threes had periodically introduced him to the business end of a cattle prod. On _Galactica_, he had spent the last six weeks watching the tall blonds with the deceptively angelic features frak with the brig rats from the _Pegasus_. The toasters were as creative as they were cruel, and the four humans in their cell weren't cut from very tough cloth. He suspected that two of them were close to suicide.

"If this was a television drama," Shelly icily remarked, "I would be ordering Sergeant Harder to remove your restraints as a gesture of trust. But this is real life, and I don't trust you at all. I can't afford to. You could kill me with impunity because I'll download, but my baby doesn't get a second chance and I won't put her at risk. So, be advised that any sudden movement on your part will earn you a bullet. It won't be fatal, but I guarantee you that it will hurt. Now, let's talk about your future, which at the moment is anything but rosy."

Bulldog was sorely tempted to lash out at the bitch. _Where's Bill,_ he badly wanted to ask; _off somewhere trying on your dresses? _But he held his tongue. This meeting was the toaster's idea, and he wasn't about to play her game.

"You murdered a superior officer in a time of war," Shelly went on, "and you did so in front of a dozen witnesses. Sergeant Harder, what is the penalty for this particular infraction?"

"The punishment is death, Ma'am … by firing squad."

"When did you change sides, Lieutenant? What could the Cavils have possibly offered you that would persuade you to turn against your own kind? Because that's what you've done. Given the chance, you would have killed my husband with the same lack of remorse that you showed when you killed my father. But unlike Saul, Bill won't resurrect. The damage to our leadership … the hit to our morale …"

Shelly looked at the pilot sitting opposite her, and sadly shook her head. "Bill's death would have created a void. It would have paralyzed us, set the Cavils up for a cheap and easy victory. So, I'm curious, Lieutenant: why did you sell us out? And for what price did you sell your soul?"

Bulldog resolutely fixed his gaze on a photograph hanging on the far wall. He had learned this particular trick during the long years of his incarceration. It wasn't enough simply to ignore the enemy—you had to convince yourself that she wasn't even there.

Shelly leaned forward to open a folder lying on the coffee table between them. "Lieutenant, it might surprise you to learn that there are Cylons on this ship sympathetic to your plight. Ellen Tigh … my mother … has defended you from the outset. She passionately believes that there are extenuating circumstances in your case, hence the extended psychological evaluation that Doctor Fordyce has conducted over the last couple of weeks. Mother's right … you were in cylon hands for a very long time, and we should not capriciously discount the possibility that you have been programmed- 'brainwashed' is the human term- to carry out the Cavils' bidding."

For answer, Danny Novacek snorted derisively. He had stuck to the cover story from beginning to end, never varied from the script. The Threes had tortured him for information, and the Eights had tried to wheedle it out of him, offering him sex to go along with the hot food and regular showers. But he had given them nothing. He had experienced the good cop, bad cop routine when he was still a kid growing up on some very mean streets. The Sharons weren't very good at manipulation; in fact, they were downright pathetic.

"But Doctor Fordyce has come to the conclusion that you are not delusional. You still know the difference between right and wrong, and she has found no evidence to suggest that you have been conditioned. You have free will, and the choices that you have made are very much your own. I'm afraid, therefore, that your attorney does not have much to work with. He's over on _Colonial One_ right now, pleading your case. President Baltar will listen carefully, and I have no doubt that he will listen sympathetically, but the facts will tie his hands no less inescapably than they tie my husband's. You are guilty, Lieutenant, and premeditated murder is a capital crime. The tribunal will convict you, and you will face a firing squad. Don't harbor any illusions about your fate."

"So, what's the point of this cozy little chat," Novacek finally sneered. He shifted his gaze, and looked steadily at the Cylon. "Did you drag me in here so that you can take an early walk on my grave?"

"No, Lieutenant; I am trying to find a way to save you from your own stupidity, but your anger and pride keep muddying the waters. I strongly suggest, therefore, that you put a lid on the righteous indignation, and adopt a whole new and much more cooperative attitude. You're a good pilot—one of the few who's fully qualified to fly a Viper and a Heavy Raider. This makes you a valuable resource … one that we simply cannot afford to fritter away. Frankly, I don't care whether you live or die, but I would like your death to count for something. So, why not put this finely tuned sense of rage of yours to productive use? Wouldn't it be more satisfying to put the Cavils in the crosshairs than to go on tamely permitting them to play you for a fool?"

"You know what, Six? You're right. As soon as I get back to my cell, I'll start spit shining my Viper. Give me a couple of days, and I'll have it looking like it just rolled off the showroom floor." If the bitch wanted to act like an idiot, Danny had abruptly decided to treat her like one.

"It would help if you apologized to Colonel Tigh, showed a little contrition, and volunteered for a suicide mission. My husband is big on the idea of death with honor, and everyone loves a hero … especially a dead hero. In a few weeks, my sister Natalie will be leaving with a task force to take the fight to the Cavils. With a little prodding, I'm sure that she'd agree not only to take you along but also to send you out in a blaze of glory."

"Wow, what an honor! Will the teacher put a gold star next to my name?"

"Do keep in mind, Lieutenant, that the alternative is a firing squad."

"Those are my options? Eat a bullet, or agree to kiss Saul's ass and take orders from another toaster? Does Bill even know what's going on here?"

"The Admiral has a fleet to protect, which doesn't leave him a lot of time to deal with minor personnel matters. He expects me to handle this sort of problem for him, and I've decided to give you a choice because executing you would be wasteful and inefficient. Take my offer, Lieutenant, and you will be duly tried and convicted, but the President will see to it that your execution is stayed. At the appropriate time you will be dispatched, _in chains_, to a baseship. There, you will treat my brothers and sisters with deference and respect. You will comply with their orders, and you will do so without question. And if one of them- or fifty of them—should choose to frak you, you will smile politely, drop your pants, and perform with the requisite degree of enthusiasm. Who knows? In a moment of weakness, one of us may take pity on you and opt to keep you around as a pet. Play your cards right, Lieutenant, and you might just come out of this war in one piece."

Shelly stood up, signaling that the meeting was over. She looked down at Danny Novacek, and a playful smile crossed her lips. "Do we have a deal, Lieutenant? Are you ready, as you so elegantly phrased it, to kiss papa's ass?"

"We have a deal," Bulldog said through gritted teeth.

"Excellent. Sergeant, please escort Lieutenant Novacek back to his cell."

When the quartet had exited her quarters, Shelly picked up the phone and called _Colonial One_.

. . .

"I admire Lieutenant Novacek," Gaius protested; "really, I do. The man spent seven years in captivity, and during all that time he never gave the enemy one piece of useful information. When he was finally released, he volunteered to work side by side with his former captors, and he did so without complaint. That's truly remarkable. I wish that I could help him, but this is strictly a military matter, and I cannot interfere."

"I beg to differ, Mr. President, on any number of grounds. The first is strictly procedural. The Colonial Articles of War require a tribunal to be convened, the panel in question to consist of five officers on active duty and superior in rank to the accused. There are only seven such officers in the fleet, and one of them is Colonel Tigh himself. The murder victim can hardly be considered a fount of impartiality. Then there's Admiral Adama. We intend to call him to testify as a hostile witness, so he will have no choice but to recuse himself. Sharon Valerii is also on our witness list, which leaves us with Colonel Thrace and Captains Adama, Katraine, and Kelly. We have no objections to these four officers serving as judges, but there is no fifth person available to round out the tribunal."

"What about Captain Lysander or Colonel Phillips?"

"They are not in the Colonial fleet, and the regulations do explicitly stipulate that the panel shall consist solely of officers serving in the same branch of the service."

"Oh, come, Mr. Hughes. In our present circumstances, we cannot afford to be so inflexible. I happen to know that military law requires the Judge Advocate General's office both to prosecute the case and to defend it. But the only attorneys in the fleet are civilians, so of necessity this case is being passed on to you and Miss Cassidy. Admiral Adama will empower a tribunal, and Colonel Phillips will chair it; his impartiality is not subject to question."

"And this tribunal will hear evidence for what, exactly? What charges will be preferred against my client?"

"Assaulting a superior officer … premeditated murder … I should think that the particulars are fairly obvious."

"Mr. President, with all due respect to your wife, Lieutenant Novacek did not murder a machine—he turned it off."

"So you freely admit that your pilot killed my father?" Sharon was intently studying Alan Hughes. He was the first attorney to cross her path, and it had taken him less than ten minutes to convince her that Philista was right: lawyers were assholes. "Slippery" didn't begin to describe the man; he was a walking oil slick.

"Mrs. Baltar, Colonel Tigh might well be your designer, or your manufacturer, but he is not by any stretch of the imagination your father. You don't have a father. You and Colonel Tigh are both sentient machines, and there is no statute or executive order in place that affords you standing in a court of Colonial law. This is a lapse that the Quorum should make good in its next session, and if you would like me to draft the necessary language, I will donate my time _pro bono_. But my client cannot be indicted or prosecuted under laws that do not yet exist. As a matter of current law, Colonel Tigh is _res_, not _persona_. Now, if someone wishes to come forward and establish a claim to this machine as his or her personal property, the individual in question would be entitled to file a civil suit for damages. Barring such action, however, my client should be released forthwith."

"And yet you plan to have Boomer testify on behalf of the defense," Sharon angrily observed. "How can _a machine_ testify?"

"She will be entered into physical evidence," Hughes corrected. "Let us keep in mind," he placidly went on, "that Captain Valerii currently holds the inter-galactic record for successful suicide attempts."

The telephone rang, and Sharon got up to answer it. She listened for a moment, and then hung up.

"Nice try," Tory Foster said contemptuously. This was her seventh day on the job but her first real opportunity to prove her worth—in this case, by shielding the new president from his ignorance of the law. "Your logic would also apply to the four men who are being held in the brig for raping one of the Sharons, but they're never going to get a trial. They're each looking at twenty-five years hard labor … _if_ they somehow survive the punishment that is being handed out daily by their cylon cellmates. You should consider yourself lucky, Mr. Hughes, that you even have a client."

"Lieutenant Novacek will have his trial," Sharon announced. She resumed her seat at her husband's side. "I have just spoken with Shelly," she informed the gathering. "The lieutenant has decided … to cop a plea? Is that the correct expression? He will plead guilty to a charge of premeditated murder, but he will receive a life sentence, which will be served on Natalie's baseship."

"Hey, wait a second," Hughes started to interject.

"Shut up, Counselor." Sharon's eyes had narrowed dangerously. "Bulldog is going to be returned to active duty. He'll be on the front lines, and he will cheerfully take on every lousy, high-risk mission that Natalie throws his way. He will be spending his off-duty time on his knees, licking cylon ass … or any other portions of their anatomy that my brothers and sisters choose to shove in his face. That's the deal."

"_You had no right to talk with my client in my absence … none whatsoever!"_

"Welcome to the real world," Tory scoffed.

"Adama will never go along with this; he wants blood!"

"Then add me to your witness list, and make it clear to the Admiral that I'm eager to testify. Mention the _Valkyrie_; that will certainly get his attention."

"I'm already familiar with the sordid details, Mrs. Baltar. Do you have anything else that I can use as ammunition?"

"Tell him that you're prepared to put our child on the stand. John doesn't like the military, and he knows all of Admiral Corman's dirty little secrets. Adama can't afford the public exposure. So, I want you openly to threaten him, but leave the rest to Shelly and me. We'll see to it that he toes the line."

_Toes the line?_ Baltar looked blankly at his wife. Her speech was now littered with human slang, and he had absolutely no idea where it was all coming from.

"Before we finish up," Hughes said brightly, "let's talk about the four unfortunate young men currently languishing in _Galactica's_ brig. Miss Foster is right … they're never going to be charged with anything—because there's no relevant statute on the books, civilian or military. At this point, I am sorely tempted to bring suit against Admiral Adama for false imprisonment."

"Because you can't rape a machine," Sharon softly added as she rubbed her belly. "I'll have to try and remember that the next time I'm forced to excuse myself so that I can go throw up."

"They're guilty, Mrs. Baltar, and we all know it … but they're not guilty in the eyes of the law because the law is imperfect. It's always catching up with reality … _with the real world_." Hughes figured that he could play this game at least as well as Tory Foster. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"And while we're at it," he smoothly continued, "we might as well talk about the Fours and the Sixes that you've got locked away. Every Cylon who was up and running on the day of the attacks is, at a minimum, an accessory to mass murder—every … single … one of you. But none of you are ever going to be charged for your crimes, which reduces the cylon prisoners to scapegoats. You can't prosecute them—that would be too embarrassing all the way round. I suppose that you could keep them penned up for the rest of their lives, but justice might be better served if we sentenced each of them to a thousand hours of community service, and then put them on probation for a year or two."

"If you want to represent Vireem and the rest of the _Pegasus_ brig rats, Mr. Hughes, I'll arrange for you to interview them." Gaius looked curiously at the young attorney while he marveled at the power of coincidence.

"But someone's already approached us about defending the Fours and Sixes. In fact, he's our next appointment. Tory … what's his name?"

Tory looked quickly through her notes.

"Romo Lampkin."

. . .

**Day 301 ACH**

**15:00 Hours**

**Battlestar **_**Galactica**_

Four of them were sitting patiently at the table and two of them were leaning against the wall, but the seventh and last of the Sixes was pacing steadily back and forth. The black clad blond reminded Romo of the caged leopard that he had seen at the zoo when he was eight years old. The Six possessed the feline's grace, and her eyes were alive with memories of freedom and the hunt. This was a weakness that he could exploit, hence his decision to focus his attention on her to the exclusion of the others.

He slid into the one remaining chair, put his briefcase on the floor, and slowly and carefully placed a thick legal notepad on the table in front of him. He aligned the bottom of the pad precisely with the edge of the table, and removed a bulky pen from his pocket. This he set in the exact center of the tablet.

Romo rested his elbows on the glossy surface, and pressed steepled fingers to his lips. The gesture conveyed confidence and authority, and it had served him well in many a courtroom.

Lampkin appraised the overseer copy, knowing that she could read his body language but not his eyes. These were hidden safely away behind the dark lenses of his glasses.

"Do you know why I'm here," he finally asked her.

"The President has appointed you to serve as our advocate," the Six replied. Her tone was dismissive.

"A long time ago, I clerked for Admiral Adama's father. Joseph Adama was the finest civil liberties litigator in the Colonies. He took the cases that no one else would touch … represented the worst of the worst. He did so not because he craved notoriety, and certainly not because he held the law in high esteem. He didn't. Joe Adama had a singular passion, and that was to understand why people do what they do. Why do we cheat our friends? Why do we reward our enemies? Why do we go to war, sacrificing our lives for lost causes? Why do we forgive, defying logic and the laws of nature with one stupid, little act of compassion? For good and for ill, we're flawed … all of us. Cylon … human … it makes no difference. Like my mentor, I have always wanted to know why, so I spend my life with the fallen, the corrupt … the damaged."

Romo paused, removed his glasses, and put them on the table with the same deliberate, economic, and well-rehearsed motion that defined all his gestures. His hands swept back and forth across the tabletop.

"And that brings us to you." He picked up his pen and unscrewed the cap, signaling unmistakably that he was now ready to get down to business. "You are the dregs of cylon society … hated by humanity, cut loose by your own. The other Sixes want to put you to death, as in permanent death … the kind that comes with being airlocked when you're far outside resurrection range. Are you ready to die?"

Lampkin watched as the Six turned inward, saw the finality of it register in her brain. A look of intense regret washed briefly across her face.

"No," she softly answered. Romo sensed the collective release of breath all around him. None of them were prepared to die.

"And yet you're guilty of the worst crimes imaginable, things far beyond mass murder. Tell me … why do you deserve to live?"

The Six looked at him with eyes suddenly large and luminous. "We're all flawed," she acknowledged. "You played God when you created the cylon, and then we mimicked you to perfection. Like you, we sought to create life without the complications of love. Our sin, like yours, is one of hubris."

"Should sin be corrected, or punished?" The Six sitting directly across from Romo had a thoughtful look on her face. "This is where we went astray. We believed that God inspired you to create the cylon so that your corruption and sin might be punished by your own hand. We were wrong, but does that make us evil? Are we like the humans in our cell, who raped one of our sisters and derived pleasure from her pain? Are we like the Ones, who tortured the human females on the _Arethusa _so that they might bathe in another being's suffering?"

"God commands us to bring forth the next generation of His children," a third Six noted in a matter-of-fact tone. "Knowing cylon pairings to be sterile, we pursued what paths were open to us. We encouraged many of your surviving males and females to enter into physical relationships with individual Cylons of their choice, but without exception they spurned our advances. By a process of elimination, artificial insemination became our only viable option."

"That's your defense? 'God made me do it'?" Romo impatiently drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "In our system of justice, the gods tend to enter the picture only when we're dealing with the criminally insane. Believe me, there aren't enough cubits in the universe to get me to enter a plea of 'not guilty by reason of insanity' on your collective behalf. If you don't want to spend the rest of your natural lives in a cell, I would accordingly suggest that you come up with a more believable justification for your behavior."

"Isn't that your job, Mr. Lampkin? We've told you the truth; now, it would seem to be up to you to use it to our advantage." The black clad overseer studied him for a moment. "Perhaps you're not a very good attorney. Perhaps this case exceeds your talents."

"There are no charges pending against you, so our first step will be to petition the President to schedule an arraignment." Romo's face gave away nothing. "I will file a motion with the President's office in the morning, requiring you to be indicted or released within 48 hours. I will also bring up the issue of an amnesty, and make it clear that it would be in everyone's best interest for it to be comprehensive. If Baltar nevertheless chooses to prosecute, you will plead 'not guilty', and we will proceed from there. Our core strategy will be to argue that you are being singled out for special treatment in what amounts to a show trial, and that there is absolutely no chance for you to receive the fair and impartial hearing to which you are entitled as a matter of law. Endless motions to dismiss will follow, while behind the scenes I'll try and work out a deal that has you plead guilty to a lesser charge, with the time that you have already served being counted in your favor. You'll be staring at additional jail time, probation, and community service, but your demeanor will largely determine the outcome. I suggest that you study up on contrition, and practice speaking from the heart. I can't take you into court dressed in sack cloth and ashes, but there's nothing to prevent you from crying your little eyes out … and tears are always a winner with the jury. Most importantly, I want all of you to read this."

Romo leaned down and opened his briefcase. He pulled out a leather-bound volume, sat it on the table, and nudged it towards the Six opposite him.

"_Law and Mind: the Psychology of Legal Practice_ … by Joseph Adama." The Six looked at him blankly.

"A lawyer only argues the facts when they're on his side … but in this case, there's not one single, solitary fact that favors us. So, we have to diminish the value of the physical evidence and the eyewitness testimony. There are a lot of legal tricks that can make the evidence vanish into thin air, but persuading a jury to discount the victim's testimony in a case involving sexual assault is a great deal more difficult. This book will show you what you're going to be up against, and also how to combat it."

Romo pocketed his pen and picked up his briefcase, but he left the notepad untouched on the table. "Do your homework," he admonished the overseer Six as he prepared to take his leave. "Because I guarantee you that the people who will be called to testify against you will be doing theirs."

During the whole of the interview, Lampkin had never jotted down a single note. As he walked away, he idly wondered whether the Sixes understood what he was trying to tell them.

. . .

**Day 303 ACH**

**16:00 Hours**

**A Sewer Somewhere Beneath New Caprica City**

Marcus Lysander played the beam from his flashlight up and down the walls, and nodded approvingly. He knew that there was a door built into the wall, but in the uncertain light he couldn't spot it. To detect the joint, he had to close his eyes and run his hand over the wall.

"Colonel, I must say that you're crews do outstanding work. Even if enemy centurions knew what they were looking for, it's doubtful whether they could find the entrance."

"Thank you, Captain. I wish that you could congratulate my teams in person, but …"

"'Madam President' is right," Lysander finished for him. "We can't afford to draw undue attention to our handiwork, and we certainly don't want people to make the connection between us." The two officers briefed Sharon Baltar on a daily basis, and they were equally confident that they had so far managed to keep her husband completely in the dark about much of what was going on down on the surface of the planet.

"Alexander, I have one very special project that I'd like you to complete before people start moving down here next week. And I don't want Sharon or anyone else to learn about it, so I want you to keep the work crew as small as possible, and only employ people who can be relied upon to keep their mouths shut."

Colonel Phillips looked curiously at his friend. Working flat out for two weeks, the men and women of the 3654th had finished the water and sewer system, installed underground utilities, and got a good start on the apartment blocks that Sharon had ordered them to build near the river. There was a lot still to be done, but the infrastructure would be fully in place on day 309.

"I want you to convert one of these emergency shelters into a dungeon," Lysander continued, "one strong enough to house as many as fifty Cylons at a time. Think in terms of one large holding area, and a number of small cells isolated from one another. The facility needs to be completely soundproofed on the outside, but I want the interior walls to be thin enough for sound to travel freely."

"You really expect the Cavils to catch up with us, don't you?"

"Yes … and I want to be prepared." The expression on Marcus Lysander's face was grim. "We'll take prisoners, and I have no scruples about torturing them for intelligence. You'd be amazed at how much information people are prepared to give up when they hear their friends not only screaming in pain but begging for death."

. . .

**Day 307 ACH**

**08:30 Hours**

**Natalie's Baseship**

The two Leobens waited patiently for the others to file in and take their seats. They did not have to draw anyone's attention to the lone holoband lying in the middle of the table. Everyone in attendance knew what this meeting was about.

"Admiral, do you remember when you killed me on Ragnar Station … beating me over the head with that flashlight?"

"Yeah, you could barely stay on your feet. You were in a lot of pain … sweating heavily. You said that it was your allergies," Adama laughed.

"But you had already figured out that the radiation from the storm was attacking the silica pathways in my brain. How did you put it? You said that it was decomposing."

"True, but I was just jerking you around … enjoying your pain. Doc Cottle's autopsy was inconclusive. We never did pin down the cause of death."

"If it was a guess, it was a good one," Simon studiously observed. "I reviewed Major Cottle's notes, and then I went in and examined the cadaver myself. I found clear evidence of cellular disruption at the junctions where the silica pathways fed into the surrounding organic tissue, and the silica relays themselves were corroded in varying degrees throughout the cerebrum. Two's brain was literally melting."

"We had to box that Two," Natalie commented. "The download was successful, but everything was scrambled. The memories were all there, but they were disjointed, and the capacity for coherent thought was lost. If it hadn't been for the Five whom you abandoned on the station, we would have had very little to go on."

"The storm was emitting pulsed radiation along a narrow bandwidth, one near the top of the EM spectrum …" Leoben turned and looked expectantly at his niece. With her well-founded reputation for unconventional thinking, he reckoned that Kara would be the first to grasp the truth.

Kara picked up the holoband, and began idly twirling it around her index finger.

"And this gizmo just happens to operate on the same band, or one very close to it," she speculated. "Well, well, well."

"Over the last six weeks, every time that Larissa has used the holoband to jump to Galatea Bay, we've used this device to study it." The other Leoben deposited a hideously ugly metal box on the table. Its surfaces were covered with protruding dials, and there were brightly colored wires and gunmetal gray conduits running everywhere.

"This modified oscilloscope allowed us to isolate the frequency," his brother concluded; "or, to put it more precisely, we were able to capture the amplitude of the pulse wave, and identify the portions of the brain being stimulated. The resonance has no measurable effect on organic tissue, but it does cause the silicon elements in our brains to degrade. At Ragnar, the radiation was constant but unfocused, so it worked steadily over time. In the holoband, in contrast, we're dealing with a single, high energy pulse that short-circuits everything in its path. The spike fried the silica relays in Gina's brain, and it appears that the data were hopelessly corrupted before the download even began. We're talking a window here to be measured in microseconds, but that's demonstrably more than enough time to do irreparable damage."

"Can we turn this thing into a weapon?" John Bierns wanted to cut to the chase.

"We already have, Major. Have you ever heard of Starfish Prime, or Operation Fishbowl? No?"

"Starfish Prime was a bit before my time," Baltar explained, "but I thoroughly analyzed the data. We set off a 1.44 megaton burst four hundred kilometers above Aquaria. It was well out over the ocean, but it knocked out traffic lights and set off burglar alarms more than eighteen hundred kilometers away in Aquaria City. The Defense Ministry subsequently commissioned me to do a theoretical study of a much larger weapon, code name Medusa. This was Operation Fishbowl. The idea was to determine whether the electromagnetic pulse from a single high altitude nuclear detonation could fry unshielded electronics across an entire continent. The answer was frightening. Since a large land mass has a much stronger magnetic field than you would encounter over open water, I concluded that the resulting geomagnetic storm would fry every microchip and interrupt every electrical circuit under the horizon. Even the ULF communications net buried deep in Picon or Caprica's planetary crust would have been disabled. One blast would have left us defenseless."

"And microchips are silicon based," Adama murmured.

"Precisely, Admiral … you've gone right to the heart of it." Baltar was now very much in his element. "We may reasonably conclude that the holoband affects the Cylon brain in exactly the same way that the EMP triggered by a high altitude nuclear burst impacts our electronics. What we have to do now is configure a weapon that emits radiation on the same frequency employed by the holoband. Catch the Cavils on the surface of any large land mass, and you can eliminate them all at one stroke."

"Would such a weapon be effective against a space station approximately the size of Erebus?" Natalie was thinking of the Colony.

"No, I'm afraid not. Remember, we're talking about a weapon that's effective only within its own horizon. Smaller targets aren't worth the effort."

"Where does this leave the Raiders and the centurions," Bierns wanted to know.

"I'm sorry," Baltar said apologetically, "but these kinds of weapons don't discriminate. I doubt if poor Zenobia would survive, never mind the centurions."

Bierns sighed deeply. He would cheerfully wipe the Ones, Fours, and Fives off the face of the universe, but how much collateral damage was he prepared to tolerate? Gina's criticisms had wounded him more than he cared to admit, and he was no closer to the answer now than he had been on Gemenon.

. . .

**Day 309**

**09:45 Hours**

**Battlestar **_**Galactica**_

**The Brig**

Romo Lampkin looked around the barren cell, trying to see it from his clients' point of view. Seven cots, seven blankets, seven pillows … _not even a pot to piss in_, he noted. He wondered how the Sixes handled their bodily functions, and made a mental note to raise the question of hygiene with the Sergeant of the Guard.

Three hours earlier there had been eleven cots, but in a stunning turn of events, the four _Pegasus_ ratings had been released. A dishonorable discharge had not kept them from receiving a hero's welcome from their fellow officers and ratings off the Mercury class battlestar. These were among the first to be ferried down to the settlement, and Romo suspected that all of this was the payoff for the strong support that the surviving _Pegasus _crew had given Baltar in the recent election. He didn't know how his brash young colleague had pulled this particular rabbit out of the hat, but in truth he also didn't care. Having four humans going around publicly congratulating themselves for raping a skin job and getting away with it would make the defense of the Sixes that he was planning to mount a lot more effective.

"I would imagine that, right now, you'd like to beat the crap out of someone." He deliberately made eye contact with each of the tall blonds, wanting them to see him as an outraged co-conspirator.

"You don't know the half of it," one of them curtly replied. Her hands were both curled into tight fists.

"Rape is more than a crime. It's a violation. Admiral Adama is angry, I'm angry … a lot of people are angry …"

"Did a Two rape Esther Cohen or Ruth Gabriel," he suddenly pressed. "Is that how they became pregnant?"

"_No!" _Romo's unexpectedly accusatory tone had taken his clients completely off guard. "You're right," one of them said; "rape _is_ more than a crime—in the eyes of God, it is one of the most terrible of sins. The Ones are capable of it because they are nonbelievers, but the Twos … even the Fours and Fives … _no_."

"I'm glad to hear it, because the President has refused to grant you amnesty. There will be a trial; as a matter of fact, you're going to be arraigned later this afternoon. The charge will be crimes against humanity. There will be multiple counts, but don't let that upset you. You will plead 'not guilty' to all of them, and I will take it from there. You should know that I have managed to separate your trial from that being given the Fours; since your role in this atrocity was a purely administrative one, this will work to our advantage."

. . .

**Day 311 ACH (Founder's Day +1)**

**New Caprica City**

**The Temporary Morgue**

Caprica Six and Erin Mathias stood side by side, surveying the wreckage. For the new Chief of Police and her principal lieutenant, it was a rough first full day on the job.

Mathias was repeatedly shaking her head, the gesture conveying a mixture of despair and disgust. "You know, Six, with all of the booze that our people were drinking in the Founder's Day festivities, I thought that today would be a busy day … that we'd be gathering up the drunks and seeing them safely to their tents. But this …" She gestured at the three corpses laid out on the examination tables in Doc Cottle's new lair. The bodies had been discovered shortly after daybreak. A party of late night revelers had found them floating in the river.

"Does the Eight remember anything?"

"No," Caprica admitted. "She was out on the edge of the settlement by herself. This was her first time on a planet, and she wanted to breathe in the smell of it … before it was tainted by the corruption of death. How ironic."

"The killer fired one small caliber round into the center of her spine at close range." Cottle took a long drag on his cigarette. "The bullet's intact, so if you can ever find the gun, ballistics should be able to generate a match. I'd say that your murderer knows how to use small arms."

"Which describes just about everyone off _Galactica_, _Pegasus_, _Astral Queen_, _Prometheus_, and about a dozen other ships," Mathias said despondently. "Did she have a human boyfriend?"

"Until yesterday, she'd never even spoken with a human." Caprica stared down at the Eight's face, which seemed more puzzled than surprised. "She says that a few men offered her alcohol. Two of them even got her up on the stage and taught her how to dance. However, she detected no animosity; everybody seemed to be having a good time."

"The Sagittaron's death is going to have serious repercussions," Cottle remarked. "Cyrus Dalyattes was one of their Elders, and he was very well respected. There was no water in his lungs, so he was dead before he went into the river. The toxicology screening revealed a lethal level of biophosphonate in his blood stream. We use that particular drug to slow down cancers that have penetrated the lymphatic system, but it's strictly last resort because even small quantities can cause acute cellular destruction. I asked Mike Robert if he had been treating Mr. Dalyattes for cancer, but he said no, and that agrees with the preliminary autopsy findings."

"Have you checked your inventory?"

"Yeah, and we're down about three hundred units. To make matters worse, there's no paper trail. Someone just walked off with the damn stuff."

"Is this one of the drugs that you keep under lock and key?"

"Our stock was in the medical safe on _Galactica_; you'll have to ask Mike how he was handling it on the _Inchon Velle_. I haven't asked him to look over his supply."

"Don't," Caprica tersely ordered. "Erin, I want you to put Sergeant Hadrian on this. I'm told that she's methodical, and that she won't quit. Tell her to run a complete inventory check in both infirmaries. I want to know who had access, and I want to know what else we're missing. Can I count on your full cooperation, Sherman?"

"Of course … and that goes for Mike Robert as well. We need to get to the bottom of this, and we need to do it quickly."

"Caprica, the Sagittarons' religious beliefs and their day-to-day lifestyle are both wildly unpopular. Even the Gemenese hold them in contempt." Erin Mathias didn't like where she was going with this, but there didn't seem to be any viable alternative. "We need to assign someone to go back over the medical records and look for patterns. Our killer may have left a trail."

The blond Six gently smiled. "Sharon wants to get Helo out from under foot, so I'll ask the Admiral to put Lieutenant Agathon on detached duty. Sherman, I don't want to interrupt your honeymoon, but things will go more smoothly if D'Anna is there to walk him through the records."

"Doctors don't get honeymoons," Cottle gruffly responded; "at least, not in this fleet. D'Anna will be glad to help."

"Thank you," Caprica gratefully replied. "And that brings us to our third victim …"

"Yeah, and the cause of death isn't exactly a mystery, is it?" Cottle paused to light a new cigarette. "I mean, a broken neck doesn't leave a lot to the imagination, does it?"

"Method … motive … opportunity … we're looking for a Cylon with a grudge, aren't we?" After everything they'd been through, Caprica found the idea of one of her brothers or sisters committing cold-blooded murder oddly depressing.

"We'll have to bring Colonel Tigh in for questioning," Mathias observed. "He was on the surface all day yesterday … he still is."

"Erin, we can't very well question every Cylon who was down here for the celebration, and it could be any one of us. Hades, it could even be me!"

"Caprica, we can't let this go … and we should start with the Eights. Was the one those animals from the _Pegasus_ gang raped down here? Does she have an alibi? Admittedly, getting those bastards released in return for nothing more than a dishonorable discharge and time already served won't have won the late Mr. Hughes _any_ cylon friends, but we really should start with the most obvious suspects."

"And so my poor sister gets to be victimized all over again? That's hardly fair."

"Why don't you let D'Anna and Doctor Fordyce sit her down for an informal chat? They've both been working with her throughout, and my wife should be able to determine whether she's hiding anything."

"Will doctor-patient confidentiality be an issue?" The time that she had spent on Caprica had taught the Six a great deal about the sometimes arcane universe of human ethics.

"Amelie can ask her to sign a waiver. If she agrees, then alibi or no alibi, it seems obvious to me that she'll cease to be a person of much interest."

"All right," Caprica agreed; "we'll do it your way. In the meantime … Erin, I want you to give Romo Lampkin around the clock protection. This trial couldn't have come at a worse possible time. It's managed to anger humans and embarrass Cylons about equally, so right now Lampkin's enemies are probably legion."

"I'll put Jammer, Cheadle, and Nowart on the detail. They're meticulous, and they won't allow Lampkin to push them around. Do you want surveillance on Vireem, Gage, and crew?"

"No," the Six decided after a lengthy pause. She was still a CSS field agent, and in her milieu justice was often very rough indeed. "We might get lucky," she coldly remarked. "Our killer might decide to strike again."

. . .

"You know," Cavil fumed, "if that almighty god to whom our miscreant brothers and sisters are all so devoted really does exist, right about now he must be laughing out his ass. What a frak-up!"

"The best laid plans," the overseer Six shrugged; "into every life a little rain must fall …"

"Since when did we start inviting Sixes to these gatherings," another Cavil angrily asked.

"About the time that I reached the conclusion … the well-founded conclusion … that the eleven of us couldn't plot our way out of a paper bag," the Cavil who hated to be called John bluntly retorted. "We need help, and I'm machine enough to admit it."

"Well, it's about frakkin' time," the pornographically inclined Cavil viciously remarked. He was still mourning the loss of his prized collection of smut, although his pet Eight was now shaping up nicely. "It was your stupid idea to upgrade the hybrids that got us into this mess in the first place."

"All right … so I got too clever by half. I admit it; are you happy now?" John reached for the ambrosia, but the Six beat him to it. He cast an irritated glance in her direction.

"You can blame me for the freak getting away from the orphanage, but who the frak would have ever guessed that the CSS would take him in? That's when it all fell apart, but we couldn't turn back because we already had thirteen frakkin' years invested in the project. Do you know how many hours I spent holding that stupid piano player's hand … how long it took me to persuade him that the gods had given him a gift that he had to pursue even if it meant abandoning his family? And the stepmother … all those homilies I delivered on suffering being good for the soul. 'Yes, sister, the gods have smiled upon your child' … 'Kara has a special destiny' … 'she will need inner strength that only you can give her' … 'it's for her own good' … blah-blah this, and blah-blah that. Back when I was still sleeping, I used to dream about killing that woman. My dreams were _very_ creative."

"Only someone came along when Kara was thirteen years old and put the fear of the gods into good, old Socrata Thrace." This copy of Cavil was still fuming. "After that, the stupid cunt never laid another hand on the little bitch. Fast forward a few years, and she also disappeared right out from under your nose. Let's see," he sneered, "Socrata abruptly stopped following your advice about the same time that little Johnny went and became a big, bad CSS agent. Do you think there just might be a connection? Do you think that Starbuck might have ended up on a rust bucket like _Galactica_ because her freak of a brother stuck her there?"

"It's all water under the bridge," John lamented. "We have to play the hand we've been dealt, and there's no getting away from the fact that this generation of hybrids can't fully master our fancy new weapons systems. We need Kara Thrace. We need three copies of her right this frakking minute, and in a matter of months we're gonna need five more."

"_I warned you." _Cavil wanted to get this meeting over with so that he could get back to testing the Eight's new software. "I told you months ago that the hybrid on this tub would have a nervous breakdown if you tried to plug it into the new systems."

"Sorry to be late," another Cavil apologized as he walked into the chamber. "But as I recall, brother, at the time you were smugly certain that everything would turn out for the best. How did you describe our new baseships? I believe that your exact words were: _'they'll have so many bells and whistles that the hybrid on this tub will need therapy just to cope with its inferiority complex'_. As it turns out, you were prescient … we just didn't appreciate _how_ prescient."

Cavil grimaced. He hated it when Cavil threw his own words back at him.

"Thank you for that oh, so helpful contribution," John growled. "I hope that we're not keeping you from anything important," he added in mockery.

"Oh, I do have places to go and appointments to keep, but I can spare you a few minutes of my time." When it came to sarcasm, Cavil wasn't going to take a back seat to anyone. "Now, let me see if I have it all straight. We can't find the humans because the hybrids can't sense their precious brother, who went off line about the same time that our baseship burrowed into the fleet. We don't have the slightest, frakkin' idea where Kara Thrace has got to—and it wouldn't matter if we did because we have no effective way to lay our hands on her. We have three brand new baseships, but the hybrids can't process information fast enough to deploy their integrated tactical systems to full advantage. So, we've made good some of our losses, but without a new generation of hybrids to offset Bierns' collection of parlor tricks, we're gonna continue to get our asses kicked on the battlefield. Have I missed anything?"

"Wow! I'm stunned, truly stunned … whatever would we do without you?" Cavil could only hope that his unscheduled absence would leave the Eight hornier than ever. _"We can't win this frakking war without Kara Thrace! Is that the gist of it?"_

"Now boys," the Six soothed, "quit throwing stones at one another. There is a way to take our not so beloved child off the board, and it doesn't even involve killing him. And did I mention that I want him … want my very own hybrid pet? I'm putting in my claim right now. I'm taking Lee Adama and John Bierns as my human and hybrid slaves. Training them to my satisfaction will prove _so_ amusing."

A warm feeling suffused her body as the memories coursed through her silica pathways. Up on the rooftop … how good it had felt to beat the crap out of the Eight who had gone over to the humans … she could see the truth, even if her idiot brother couldn't. In the Delphi museum … toying with Kara Thrace … putting her on her knees. The hybrid bitch would already be in their hands if her traitorous sister hadn't interrupted the fun. . . .

"Six, you're beginning to get on my nerves." John Cavil wasn't long on patience, and he didn't especially like Sixes to begin with. "Just get on with it."

"Why, of course, brother; but you really need to learn how to control your temper … among other things." The One's lack of staying power was leaving her more and more frustrated, and she was planning to take it all out on her harem.

"Six …"

"Oh, very well," she said with a long, theatrical sigh. She held up her hand and pretended to examine her nails. "It's obvious, really. You unbox Mara and his birth mother, and you bring them back here. When he catches up with us, or vice-versa, you let the three of them have a good, long cry over the wireless—and then you start torturing them. Personally, I'd begin by cutting something off; a finger or a toe would do nicely. The idea is to get John's attention, make it clear to him that you don't object to steeping your hands in cylon blood, and intimate that there's a lot worse to come. Then you offer him a trade: his freedom for their lives. He agrees to become my obedient slave, and they go free. Once we've taken him out of the equation, our superior firepower will once again rule the battlefield."

"And you seriously think he'd agree to this?" John Cavil had never been much of an optimist, and he just couldn't see the First Born willingly committing suicide in this fashion.

"It just might work," a Cavil who had so far remained silent observed. "You weren't there, brother; you didn't see the way the abomination reacted when I threatened his Six. He came close to tearing me limb from limb. I suspect that he'll pay any price we care to name if that's what it takes to keep his dear, sweet mother safe." Cavil frowned thoughtfully. "You know, while we're at it, we ought to collect Kara's mother too. What's good for the goose is good for the gander … isn't that the way the expression goes? And what if we programmed Aspasia Six to kill Adama on sight? Hmm, I see a lot of upside here, and there's no downside at all."

"Fine … okay … it's worth a try," John conceded. "But the Colony is not exactly lurking around the corner. In fact, it's halfway across the frakkin' galaxy, and we can't spare a baseship. Somebody's gonna have to haul ass in a Heavy Raider …"

"I'll go, but I want to take my Eight with me," Cavil quickly volunteered. "It'll be a long trip, and a machine has needs."

"Just bring the CPU's back in one piece. And," John swore, "do take the time to make sure that you've got the right ones!"

"Now can I have Thalia," the Six asked on a hopeful note.

"Sorry, Six, but she's boxed on the Hub, and that's where she's gonna stay."

"Never mind," she sighed. "I'm patient … I can wait …"

_A hybrid slave to call my very own …_

The Six shuddered with sexual delight.


	2. Chapter 2: Trial and Error

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXTREME VIOLENCE, FOR MATURE READERS ONLY.**

Chapter 2

TRIAL AND ERROR

"So, does anybody want to comment?" John Cavil glanced around the gathering, which this time consisted exclusively of Ones.

"She's a sadistic bitch … truly, the perfect machine." Cavil was fairly gushing with enthusiasm.

"This particular Six has always been hard-core," another brother remarked, "but I'd say that from now on she won't be taking any prisoners. Humans … Cylons … hybrid brats … they'll all be grist for the mill. _And_, it's gonna turn … slowly and painfully."

"We're all in agreement, then? The modifications to the base program are a success?"

No one demurred.

"Then here's what I suggest. We bring the next generation of Fours, Fives, and Sixes on line, but we jettison the Twos and Threes once and for all. The Twos are nothing but a pain in the ass, and I've had it with the Threes preening about how much god loves them. The collective doesn't need a bunch of religious fanatics gumming up the works."

Cavil paused, but his contempt for their much maligned brothers and sisters was widely shared. In this chamber, no one was prepared to leap to their defense.

"Their genetic material is still housed on the Colony," an increasingly dyspeptic Cavil noted. "Do you want me to trash it while I'm there?" The One was planning to resume his ongoing search for papa Saul's well hidden collection of pornography, but this particular copy positively loathed both of the models in question, and he would gladly take the time to do something nasty to the pair of them. "I will point out that the Threes could still be of some use. For example, I'm confident that with just a little tweaking we could successfully mount D'Anna's head on the body of an octopus."

"And have her squirt ink at us? No thanks; just shove everything out the nearest airlock."

"Will do," Cavil said in a voice heavy with disappointment. "But what about the Eights … does the updated software meet with everyone's approval?'

"Brother, you've surpassed all our expectations." John wasn't in the habit of praising his siblings, but he couldn't contain himself. "It's brilliant … absolutely brilliant … your best work yet."

"Oh, it was nothing, really," Cavil modestly protested. "Dumbing our sisters down didn't turn out to be much of a challenge; after all, the Eights are machines, and this is merely a variation on what we did to the centurions lo those many years ago. All I had to do was remind myself exactly how the inhibitors prevented the centurions from accessing their higher brain functions, and then slice and dice the files in question. It was frequently just a matter of erasing the addressing; I left the subroutines in place, but the Eights can no longer access them. Right now, they're functioning on about the same intellectual level as the humans' primate ancestors."

"I hesitate to ask, but does this mean that they're gonna need toilet training?"

"No, I didn't monkey around with that program, if you'll pardon the pun. What I did play around with is their sex drive. Mama Ellen gave me a lot to work with; I just had to up the ante, so to speak."

"Made them sex starved, did you," one of the brothers smirked.

"I now prefer to think of them as perpetually hungry," Cavil cleverly replied. "The most time consuming part of the whole project was enhancing their receptors. I wanted to cover the full range of stimuli. But you can take it as a given that, if there's a male nearby who's in heat, our new and improved Eights will respond … dramatically." A very satisfied expression settled on his aged features. "I've upped their pheromone output, and removed all of Ellen's firewalls. "You lock a fourth generation Eight into a room with a post-pubertal human male, and I guarantee you that she'll be pregnant when she walks out the door. Find the meat sacs, and we'll be drowning in hybrids in no time at all. I've even worked out a training program to cull out the inferior breeds, but it'll take at least nineteen years to harvest the first crop."

"_Kara Thrace," _John said as he slammed his fist into the table. He ignored the resulting dent. "We're not gonna sit around twiddling our thumbs for another twenty frakking years! It always comes down to Kara Thrace!"

. . .

Dexter Horvett walked out of his tent, yawned, and stretched his arms wide before curling them up behind his neck. It was a little after six in the morning, but when he squinted, he thought that he could detect the first, faint glimmering of sunlight through the swirling mist. Horvett hated New Caprica; it was dark and damp … the kind of damp that, over time, leached its way into a man's soul. _Still,_ he reminded himself, _it's a hell of a lot better than Galactica's brig._

Now that he was once more a civilian, Horvett no longer needed to get up for the 6 AM duty call, but old habits did indeed die hard—and besides, he wanted to catch the first shuttle up to Adama's personal garbage scow. He wanted a front row seat. He wanted to see the frakkin' Sixes get what was coming to them. Scuttlebutt had it that they would finish up on the gallows, and he was planning to be there—volunteering to tie the knots tight.

Horvett stumbled off into the dark. He didn't qualify for one of the new apartments … in fact, as an ex-marine who had been dishonorably discharged, he was as far down on the list as one could possibly get. Hence for the time being he would have to make do with communal showers and the public latrine.

The ex-marine snorted in disgust. The latrine was a long cement trough with crude wooden planking, into which circular holes had been hastily and crudely cut. There was no seat, and still no toilet paper. And it was cold … at six in the morning, it was brutally cold.

_At least there's nobody else about._ Wood, he knew, was far too precious to be expended on something as trivial as partitions to demarcate toilet stalls. Humans and Cylons, males and females … no one had any privacy anymore. He and his buddies had taken a walk through the settlement the night before, all of them drunk for the first time since their last shore leave. You could smell it, and you could hear it—all over the settlement, the women were getting it on. _Still got to get me some of that cylon stuff_, he reckoned; _a little bit of the old oh, yeah … oh, yeah_! He hadn't been on the surface for more than twenty minutes when his long-time pals from the _Pegasus _had given him the straight skivvy: the toaster girls were hot, and they weren't picky. Promise them a kid, and they'd beg for it. Horvett could do that; in fact, the more he thought about it- the more he thought about little Dexter, Junior rattling around inside some robot chick's belly- the harder he got.

The door opened, and a lone female walked in.

_Speaking of the devil …_

It was one of the Eights, and she strolled casually down the row until she was almost on top of him.

"Mind a little company," she asked seductively. The Eight was purring, and although Dexter Horvett didn't know it, she was drowning him in her pheromones. She wanted him to be hard as a rock.

Horvett was well-equipped, and he knew it. In the showers, he had never shied away from any female who wanted to inspect the merchandise.

And he wasn't about to start now.

_Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!_

The door at the opposite end of the latrine opened, and three more Eights came strolling in. Except that one of them stopped in her tracks, effectively blocking the entrance. Sitting on the primitive crapper, Dexter didn't even notice when the first Eight leaned in to kiss him hard on the lips.

He drank in the fragrance of her, his eyes closed, enjoying the moment. He hadn't been with a woman in months, and he was ready … gods, but he was beyond ready! If this one wanted a kid, he'd give her one right here, right now.

_Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!_

When he opened his eyes, he saw a second Eight standing alongside the first, both of them staring down at him … staring hard. He sensed rather than heard the third one come up behind him, and deep inside him, on a level so primal that it went back eons in time to mankind's origins on another world, something stirred.

Too late.

Searing pain lashed his back, and he started to scream, but the first Eight clamped her hand hard across his mouth. "Remember," she whispered, "remember standing guard … waiting your turn … while your friends were raping my sister? This is payback … cylon style."

He barely glimpsed the straight razor that appeared in the hand of the Eight standing to her right, but he felt the skin peel back on his left arm as she sliced him open, right to the bone. He tried to scream, but nothing came out beyond a muffled grunt.

Behind him, the razor slashed a second time, and then a third. Horvett dimly imagined that his blood was flying everywhere, but in this he was wrong. The razors were so sharp that only a thin, crimson line marked each cut.

The Eight who had kissed him waved her own razor in front of his face. And then she pulled her hand away from his mouth, got a grip on his rock hard cock, and cut it off. Blood jetted out of the open wound, saturating her pants and sweater.

Already going into shock, Dexter Horvett let out one brief, despairing cry, but the Eight silenced him a second later. She shoved the severed organ deep into his throat, and used her superior strength to clamp his mouth shut. She patiently stood her ground while her sisters continued to ply their razors, severing veins and arteries, their satisfaction mounting as, with each passing second, the light faded from the monster's eyes.

It took Dexter Horvett a long time to die.

When it was over, the three cylon females jammed his ass firmly into the hole, and one of them penned three words on a small tag before tying it to his left toe.

JUSTICE IS SERVED

. . .

"How do we measure loss? Our first instinct is to quantify it. We count the dead. But whether it's fifty billion or fifty-two … the number is too large for us to absorb. It's a statistic, and it's ultimately meaningless."

Didi Cassidy was standing in the middle of the makeshift courtroom, and she was trying surreptitiously to read the judges. The _Prometheus _captain, Doyle Franks, was leaning forward, arms resting loosely on the dais in front of her. She was fully engaged, and had obviously made up her mind before the trial had even got underway. _There's one vote for conviction,_ Didi concluded.

"No. Each of us daily weighs the sum total of his or her own suffering, for it is the loss of the individual that shapes our pain … it is the individual for whom we grieve. A father, and too often a mother as well … brothers and sisters … a husband or wife … and children … how many of us mourn the loss of an entire family … of everyone we have ever loved?"

Didi studied the three male captains, and she didn't like what she saw. They were all sitting back in their chairs, listening attentively, but she knew that they were disengaged … wary. These were pragmatic men, and they had little tolerance for the lofty flights of rhetoric that professional judges silently endured day in and day out in their courtrooms. _They haven't made up their minds; they want to examine the evidence._

"We measure our loss not in courtrooms but in corridors … in the pictures that we mount on otherwise featureless walls lest our dead be completely lost to view. And yes, we measure our loss in the candles that we light in our vigils, as we offer up our prayers in remembrance …"

Behind her, Didi heard the unmistakable rattle of chains, and she knew that one of the seven defendants had shifted in her seat. The prosecutor had to fight hard to maintain her equanimity. She had begged Adama not to do this, but the admiral had turned a deaf ear to her pleas. The prisoners were unrepentant and dangerous, and they would remain in irons from start to finish. They were all collared, all chained together, and she didn't need to turn around to imagine the expressions on their faces. She knew Romo Lampkin only by reputation, but he was said to be a clever and devious man. He would have undoubtedly coached his clients on their demeanor in court. Wide eyes … expressions that screamed blank incomprehension—the seven Cylons with the angelic faces would be the very picture of naïve innocence.

"We pray that they died in the nuclear infernos. We pray that death came so quickly that it took them unawares. And we ask: where is justice to be found? We know now that we cannot condemn an entire race for the crimes of a few: therein lies the difference between justice and vengeance. No. Instead we must search out those who have maimed and killed with forethought and malice. We seek to punish those who have knowingly committed the most heinous crimes imaginable … crimes against humanity itself. We would call John Cavil and his brothers before the bar of justice to answer for their crimes, as today we call these seven females before us that we may condemn them for violating not only the body but also the spirit of fifty-four young women traumatized by the loss of their loved ones and then brutalized a second time … strapped to tables, unable even to move their heads … forcibly impregnated … _turned into baby machines_! What obscenity could be so vile? Where is justice for Ruth Gabriel and Esther Cohen, whose religious faith requires them to birth the children conceived in this unholy act of rape? _Where is justice for Polyxena Atreides?_"

Didi Cassidy strode purposefully to an easel, and tore off the heavy cloth to conceal what rested underneath. She picked up the large photograph, which had been taken when the inhuman array of tubes had still been snaking their way into Polyxena's body. She paused in front of each judge, holding the photograph up for their inspection, knowing that there was no word in the human vocabulary that could fully capture what had been done to this beautiful young woman … this girl.

Sibyl Janks recoiled with such force that, for a moment, Didi wondered whether Zeus had slapped her hard across the face with an invisible hand. In the preliminaries, she had debated whether or not to demand that the captain of the _Virgon Express_ recuse herself, the conflict of interest manifest. But it was well known that neither Natalie nor Shelly would lift a finger to save their seven sisters, and she had been uncertain of her terrain. In her own mind, it was plain that Sibyl Janks had now reached her verdict, but Didi had no sense of which way she would actually vote.

She returned the photograph to the easel, and turned it so that it would face the defendants, and the large crowd of humans and Cylons who had come to witness the trial.

"_Where is justice,"_ she cried; _"where is justice for this?"_

. . .

"Good morning, my dear, sweet wife! Would you like your adoring slave to serve you breakfast in bed?"

Sharon gingerly opened one eye, and peeked over the top of the blankets. She had turned off her internal alarm clock on Founder's Day, and it had taken her no time at all to master the fine art of "sleeping in." She had already come to the conclusion that this was one of the finest of the many human traditions.

"Oatmeal again," she asked warily.

"Yes," Philista answered, "but this morning we have the luxury of choice! I traded a couple of Sixes down the row some of our cinnamon for some of their nutmeg. _And _… we've got coffee! _Real coffee_, not that instant mishmash that everybody's being forced to drink."

"What did it cost us," Sharon groaned.

"A dozen eggs," Philista confessed. "But it's worth it," she added brightly. "Maybe the smell of freshly brewed coffee will help you to wake up."

"I'm on my honeymoon," Sharon protested, "and I like being lazy. I think I'll stay in bed all day."

"Then can I come back to bed, too? I didn't get much sleep last night, and I'm tired. _And_ it's your fault," Philista pouted.

"You can come back to bed," Sharon responded with a wicked grin, "but what makes you think you're going to get any rest? You're my property now, and I intend to work you hard."

"Yes, my lovely mistress," Philista said with a contented smile. "Would you like me to spoon feed you?"

"Will the oatmeal keep?"

"I haven't even boiled the water."

"Good." Sharon raised the blanket to invite Philista back to bed. "No clothes, though … you know the rules," the Eight admonished.

It took Philista only a few seconds to shed the admittedly skimpy clothing that she was wearing, and then she crawled under the covers, and swept Sharon into her arms. She kissed her with enormous tenderness.

"So many rules," she said with an artificial sigh. "How do you expect me to remember them all?"

"Sheer repetition," Sharon replied. Her eyes were wickedly alight. "That's the only way you humans learn anything. You're such an inferior breed."

"True," Philista agreed, "but you have to admit that we learn our lessons well. _And _… we never forget what we've learned!" She began to nibble on Sharon's shoulder while her fingers began to explore between her legs.

Sharon moaned with anticipation.

"You're so easy," Philista teased.

"Shut up and get to work," Sharon ordered, but the steady rhythm of her breathing was already beginning to quicken.

"Yes, mistress; to hear is to obey!" Philista reached out with the tip of her tongue delicately to caress one of Sharon's nipples. It hardened instantly.

"So-o-o easy," she repeated a moment later.

Sharon's only response was to arch her back. In accordance with the ancient Gemenese tradition, and much to the amused delight of Philista's female friends from the _Pegasus_, Sharon had "purchased" her wife off a makeshift auction block after a surprisingly robust round of bidding fueled in no small part by unending rounds of whiskey and ambrosia. An understanding and equally amused priest from Gemenon had performed the archaic but still legal _manus_ marriage, which involved not one legal document but two. In promising to love, honor, and obey her wife in all things, Philista had technically surrendered her claims to personhood. She existed now only within the confines of her marriage, a peculiar form of chattel property that could never be sold, mortgaged, bartered, or otherwise disposed of. In turn, Sharon had signed an equally binding agreement to protect and provide for her wife, and she had sealed their union with a formal laying on of hands in the presence of seven witnesses, who affixed their signatures to both documents. The marriage _cum manu _meant that Sharon was now Philista's legal guardian. The human could no longer sign a contract or testify in a court of law, and technically Philista should have taken her name. But that was the point at which Sharon had balked. She was Sharon Liu now, and proudly so—and she had no illusions about who the real slave was in this relationship. Her body had already become Philista's plaything.

When they had finished making love, Philista held up her hand so that she could admire her wedding ring. It didn't look like much- a heavy, crudely manufactured lump of iron- but it was incredibly old, and would have been worn by a real slave at some point centuries and possibly even millennia in the past. It was, Philista realized, in all likelihood unique, and thus worth a small fortune. But the young couple didn't have a cubit to their name. Sharon refused to say where she had found the heirloom, nor would she divulge how much it had cost her, but Philista suspected that her huntress wife had pledged many of the game that Sharon would soon start going out to shoot. Philista and Sharon both understood that their honeymoon would necessarily be a short one.

"I think I've got a handle on some of our problems," Philista murmured as she lazily resumed nibbling on Sharon's shoulder.

"I'm glad to hear it," Sharon acknowledged, "because my little slave is such a talented slut that I seem to have lost the capacity for coherent thought. You're driving me mad with desire!"

"And the day is young and I've barely got started," Philista gleefully warned. "You Cylons really, really are so-o-o easy!"

"It's the nature of the machine," Sharon openly confessed.

"I've met a man …"

"I'm jealous already …"

"He's good-looking, intelligent … has a wonderful smile …"

"Insanely jealous …"

"He's unattached, and I think he'd make a great father for our babies …"

Philista now had Sharon's complete attention …

"_And_ … he's an engineer! He's an officer in Colonel Phillips' unit, not one of those useless sales guys that are now cluttering up the premises. Sharon, _he could build us a real, honest-to-gods house_! His name's Marc Jacobs …"

"I like him already …"

"And he's agreed to have dinner with us."

"Do you want him to stay the night? Shall I seduce him?"

"_Absolutely! The sooner we're pregnant, the better!"_

. . .

"Your Honors, if it should please the court, the defense would like to change our plea to 'guilty'."

"_What?"_ Badly startled, Doyle Franks hastily decided that the defense attorney must have taken at least temporary leave of his senses. _"Counselor, are you sure that you want to do this?"_

"No," Romo concurred, "but what choice do I have?" He stood up, and slowly walked out to confront the panel of five judges. "I mean, it's obvious that my clients are guilty. They're mass murderers, every single one of them; they've violated fifty-four women that we know of, and gods only know how many more that we don't. What should we do with them?"

"_Throw them out the airlock,"_ someone shouted from the rear of the court.

"_That's right," _Romo screamed. _"Throw them out the airlock! They deserve it," _he yelled, stabbing his fingers towards the heavily shackled Sixes, who were staring wordlessly at him, their eyes suddenly grown large as small moons. _"They're the enemy, and if there's one thing that's good in war … that's right and just and proper … it's slaughtering our enemy … getting some righteous payback! What are we waiting for? Let's just kill them now and be done with it! Let's box them, and fire the CPU's into the sun! Permanent death!"_

Romo stared at the Sixes, searing them with his hatred and contempt. "My learned colleague is right. Somebody has to pay for our suffering, but the Cavils aren't within our grasp. Somebody has to take the fall, _but it won't be Shelly Adama or Natalie Six or ten thousand other Cylons in this fleet, not one of whom lifted a finger to stop the attacks! They're all guilty of mass murder, all of them_ … but they'll never be tried for their crimes because our sense of justice has to be carefully tailored to fit the needs of the moment. _Where is justice indeed?_"

"The Fours don't even deserve a trial! If you ask them whether they strapped Ruth Gabriel to a table, they'll admit it. If you ask them whether they used artificial insemination to make Esther Cohen pregnant with a Cylon half-breed, they'll admit that too. If you ask them whether they hooked Polyxena Atreides up to their obscene machines with wires and tubes to give the baby she was forced to conceive a chance to survive, they'll gladly walk you through the details. _All you have to do is ask! But if you ask them whether they're guilty of crimes against humanity, all that you will get in return is this blank, unreasoning stare!_"

Romo slammed his fist into his palm, the frustration spontaneous or rehearsed … or perhaps a bit of both.

"_They don't deserve a trial not because they're mentally incompetent but because they're morally incompetent! How can you try someone for a crime whose nature they cannot even comprehend? Where is justice indeed?"_

"And what of these Sixes," he asked as he shifted everyone's attention back to the defendants. "In this trial, we will discover that they managed the breeding program, but never actively participated in it. They lacked the medical knowledge to do so. But it doesn't matter because the law does not discriminate between the perpetrators of a crime and their accomplices. Accessories to a crime are as guilty in the eyes of the law as the principals."

"_Or are they? _This lady," Romo said more quietly as he pointed at Caprica Six, who was sitting in the front row of the visitor's gallery, "this lady is our new Chief of Police, and a genuine Hero of the Cylon. She knew all about the breeding farms back on Caprica … she has publicly admitted it. Did she try to help these poor young women? _No_! When pressed, _she won't even apologize_! 'It wasn't our finest hour' … that's all that she'll concede … 'it wasn't our finest hour'. She knew what was taking place on the _Hippolyte_ and the _Eurykleia_, and she wasn't blind to the atrocities being committed on the _Arethusa_. Did she lift a finger? _No!_ Did she raise her voice in protest? _No! _Did she ever whisper one, tiny syllable voicing her objections to these crimes against humanity? _No! No! No!_"

"She's an accessory … virtually every Cylon in this fleet is an accessory to what are admittedly crimes against humanity. But has she been charged? _No!_ Will she be charged? _No! _We'll turn a blind eye to her crimes because this Hero of the Cylon has managed to insinuate herself into our good graces … become our ally … our friend. We'll give Caprica Six a pass … _but not her sisters! No! _What we're gonna do is take all of our hatred, all of our rage, all of the righteous indignation that cries out for vengeance in our hearts … _and we're going to pile it all onto these seven machines, despite the fact that not one of them has any idea what all this fuss is about! They literally do not understand why it is a sin, and a crime, to bring new life into the universe! They point to Kara Thrace and John Bierns, who were born in exactly the same circumstances, and they ask what it is that they have done wrong!" _

Romo resumed his pacing in a courtroom that had now gone dead silent.

"This isn't a trial. This … this … is an act of catharsis. The Cylons want these Fours and Sixes to die because their existence is an ongoing reminder of a past that, rightly, they want us all to forget. And humans want them to die because somebody has to pay … somebody has to bear the blame for fifty-two billion dead. We're all guilty—humans for what we've done to the machines, and the machines for what they've done to humanity. We're all guilty, so we have to exorcize our demons—and _that_ … _that _is what we're doing here."

Romo paused, and his gaze swept across the sea of faces in the visitor's gallery.

"Sam Anders tells us that, four thousand years ago, the thirteenth tribe of Cylons stopped on a distant planet, raised an altar, and made a sacrifice to their angry god … twelve human captives, one from each of the twelve tribes of Kobol. Now, we have three Fours and seven Sixes to offer up as a sacrifice of our own, and we should do so. By all means, let's build an altar and offer up a blood sacrifice—not in the name of justice and most certainly not to the gods, but to our own bottomless well of guilt and shame. We'll never fill it, but we have to try. Somebody has to die to give us a bare chance of feeling better about ourselves, and it might as well be them."

. . .

"Whaddya say, Doc … is business booming, or what?"

"I'm definitely going to need a larger morgue, and I'm in the market for an Assistant Medical Examiner." Cottle paused to draw the nicotine laden smoke deep into his lungs. "You want the job?"

"No thanks, Doc; I just dropped by to check out the competition."

Dino Panattes was short and slight of build, but the Ditchdigger had been Eric Phelan's top enforcer, and one of the most feared mechanics in the Colonial underworld. In his profession, being a mechanic had nothing to do with cars.

"The cause of death," Erin Mathias gently prodded as she gestured in the direction of the mutilated corpse.

"Oh, I'd say that's pretty cut and dried," Cottle wryly commented. And then he winced. "Sorry, Sergeant … that didn't come out quite the way I meant it to."

"Yeah, well, I guess it's safe to say that he bled out," Dino observed. "From the angle of the cuts, I reckon that you're looking for at least two bad guys … or bad girls … both right-handed."

"Where's the boss," he added as he gratefully took a cigarette from the pack that Cottle offered him.

"Up on _Galactica_," Mathias replied. "She's on Romo Lampkin's witness list."

"Half the fleet's been called to testify," Dino laughed—_"including my boss!" _The Ditchdigger was still working for the Six with no name, who was busily consolidating the black market's grip on the settlement's underground economy. The change of venue had done nothing to improve the fleet's economic outlook, and Six wanted to make sure that her associates remained in charge of the only game in town.

"This is one of the clowns who raped the Eight, right Erin?"

"He was standing guard, but he knew what his pals were up to," Mathias agreed.

"First the mouthpiece, and now one of the pack," Dino shrugged. "It sure don't look like the Eights have much faith in our court system. JUSTICE IS SERVED,"he laughed as he read the inscription on the stiff's toe tag. "You know, right about now a really smart guy would be working an angle that would get him sent back to the brig. You think the other three dickwads are bright enough to sort it out?"

"Personally, I think they've got shit for brains," Mathias spat. "But I'll have to talk with them. Doctor, I could use the time of death, and sooner would be better than later."

"I'll have the preliminary results in about three hours," Cottle promised; "but don't rule out the Sixes on this one."

"Why?" Erin couldn't say it out loud, but she wholeheartedly agreed with the diminutive gangster: this was a straightforward revenge killing, and it had the Eights' fingerprints all over it.

"Talk to Bierns," Cottle urged. "He's compiled a list of the _Pegasus_ personnel who raped and tortured Helena Cain's pet Six. What are the odds that all four of these scumbags will show up in that particular file?"

"You getting anywhere on the Dalyattes hit," Dino wanted to know. Getting Sagittaron Elders bumped off on Founder's Day wasn't good for anybody's business. The tough little gangster's boss wanted this one sorted out fast.

"We're working the case aggressively, and we're making progress," Mathias vaguely admitted. "But Dino, please do me a favor. If you should happen to see my wife before I do? Tell Hiris to leave this one strictly alone."

. . .

"Polyxena, I apologize for forcing you to relive this experience, but can you describe for us, in your own words, what happened to you on Caprica?

"My mom and I lived in Moasis. I guess you'd call it a commuter village … it was a few stops outside Caprica City on one of the suburban lines. The Cylons didn't bomb us; they landed some of their Heavy Raiders, and sent centurions out to kill everyone. That morning, mom had already left for the temple; I never saw her again, so I suppose the centurions killed her. I thought they'd kill me too, but they took me prisoner … put me in chains."

"What happened next?"

"They shoved me onto one of their Heavy Raiders, along with two or three other girls from our village. We made more stops, took on more people … all women … all young. Eventually, they transported us to a hospital or clinic of some kind … I don't know where it was. I was scared … we were all really, really scared. We didn't know what was happening."

"Did you see any of the human form Cylons before the centurions deposited you at the medical facility?"

"No. We didn't even know they existed. At the clinic, we were processed by a couple of Sixes … you know the type, the ones with the short, blond hair? At first, I thought it was weird. I thought they were humans who were working for the Cylons … identical twins. But then, the Fours began to arrive, and more Sixes. I kept telling myself that it was all just a bad dream … that none of this could possibly be happening. But it was real, all right. I still didn't know whether they were machines or clones; the only thing I knew for sure was that they weren't human."

"Did they hurt you? Threaten you in any way?"

"No … that's what was so strange. Everything was _so normal_. They took me to an examination room, and one of the Sixes told me to take my clothes off and put on a hospital gown. She had me get up on a table … the kind with stirrups? Then Simon came in. He told me his name, and then he started asking me the usual kinds of questions. He acted just like a real doctor. He drew some blood, and then he gave me a vaginal exam. Everything was just like when mom took me to see her gynecologist after I got my first period. It was all so normal!"

"When did it stop being normal?"

"It was the IV. I wasn't sick or anything, so I couldn't figure out why anyone would start an IV. The next thing I knew, I was strapped down to a table in some kind of ward. There were wires running all over the place, and lots of tubes. I figured that some of them had to be catheters, but there was a big one going down into my stomach. At first, I thought that it was a feeding tube, but it didn't seem like it was in the right place. It took me a while to catch on … to realize that it was invading my uterus. That's when it hit me … that they were using me as some kind of baby machine."

"Did you ever try to talk with them? Get some answers?"

"Sure … and one of the Fours came around every day to check on us … one of the Sixes, too, although they seemed more interested in the machinery than us. I tried to talk with them, but they just ignored me. They never said a word."

"At what point did you realize that you were pregnant?"

"Not until I started throwing up. I'd led a pretty sheltered life, but I did know about morning sickness."

"Once you became pregnant, did the Cylons treat you differently … show you any consideration?"

"No! And I got really angry. I mean, here they'd gone to all this trouble to get me pregnant, and yet they didn't seem to give a damn about me or the baby. It's hard to puke when you're strapped down the way we were. Some of the others … they died. I think … I think they choked to death on their own vomit."

"And how did the Cylons react when people started dying?"

"They didn't! They didn't even remove the bodies! They just left them there to rot. It was horrible! The smell … it was so bad that I wanted to throw up all the time. I _begged_ them to do _something_ … _anything_ … to make me feel better. We were all so sick. I was sure that I was going to die, but it got to the point that I just didn't care anymore. It got to the point where I wanted to die … just get it over with."

"Did they ever take the corpses away?"

"No … the only reason I survived is because they moved us. They gave us something to knock us out, and then they put us on board that ship. You know the rest."

"Polyxena … the Sixes that are on trial here: do you think that they deserve punishment?"

"Yes! But I don't want you to kill them! That doesn't even come close to what they deserve! I want you to strap _them _down! I want you to make _them_ pregnant! And when they start puking their guts out … let them! Let them lie there and rot in their own vomit! That's what they deserve. _That's justice!_"

"Thank you, Polyxena. You are a remarkable young woman. I think you're the most courageous person I've ever met, and I truly and sincerely want to wish you well."

Didi Cassidy looked over at the panel of judges.

"Your Honors, I have no further questions."

Doyle Franks looked at Polyxena Atreides, and her heart leapt into her throat. She was still a child, and she looked shattered. The captain could only pray that her entire life had not been destroyed by this experience.

"At this point, I'm going to declare a sixty minute recess." She banged her gavel to dismiss the court.

Shelly Adama hastened forward to take Polyxena in her arms. The child buried her head against Shelly's breast, and began quietly to sob. The Cylon slowly led her human charge out of the chamber.

. . .

"C'mon, Sarge, the rumor's all over town. Is it true? Did they slice Dexter up … cut off his dick?"

"Yes," Mathias calmly answered, "and they shoved his prick down his throat. Doc Cottle's still trying to figure out whether he suffocated or bled to death."

"And what are you doing about it," Vireem growled.

"Well, as you can see, at the moment I'm on my coffee break—if this swill qualifies as coffee. But once I resume my shift, I thought that I'd go out and start prowling around the garbage cans. Who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky and find somebody's clothing drenched in blood. There must have been one hell of a lot of blood," she added maliciously.

"This is bullshit," Mike Gage angrily yelled, "total bullshit. You're not doing a damned thing, and you don't even seem to care that a fellow marine's been tortured to death. Yeah, I know what you think of us, and I don't give a flying frak. Dexter didn't deserve this … I want you to do your gods damned job!"

"Now you listen to me," Mathias barked as she climbed to her feet. "Horvett's in the queue, but right now we've got three other murders staring us in the face, and a dishonorably discharged rapist is strictly bottom of the pile. We'll get to him when the time and resources permit, but don't hold your breath waiting for an arrest. The odds are that it's one of the Eights, unless it's one of the Sixes seeking revenge for Gina Inviere. You wanna expedite this investigation, Gage? Then save me a trip up to the _Galactica_: is Horvett's name going to show up in Thorne's log? Is he one of the animals who stopped by periodically to rape my sister-in-law?"

"_You married one of those things?" _Vireem was outraged. This was beyond obscenity.

"Yes, Derek, and you really want to be careful what you say about my wife." Mathias kept her tone even and neutral. "For those of you who haven't been keeping up on current events, my Six is the head of our local crime syndicate … a kind of latter-day Guatrau. She's got people working for her whose idea of an easy death is taking your balls off with a blowtorch. You understand what I'm telling you?"

"Yeah, I hear you, all right. What you're saying is that it's up to us to take care of business because the New Caprica Police Department isn't going to do frak. Fine … okay … you want blood in the streets, we'll frakkin' well give it to you."

"Is that a threat, Derek?"

"Hey, wait a second!" Karl Hobbes couldn't believe how quickly this was all spiraling out of control. "We came here to help, not start a gang war! I want police protection. I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Sergeant, you guys have got to get on top of this!"

"Hobbes, I wish I could help, but we just don't have the resources. If you want a bodyguard, go out and hire one."

"Karl, forget it." Derek Vireem had already written Mathias off. "We've got a skin job for a police chief, and now we know the lay of the land. From now on, it's the _Pegasus_ against the world; we're on our own."

"If I were you, I wouldn't count on your former shipmates for much," Mathias coolly observed. "Your fellow rapists all seem to have stayed with the ship, and a lot of your one-time pals have got some pretty serious relationships going with the Sharons. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work. The three of you have a nice day."

. . .

"Polyxena, I know that this is very difficult for you. Are you ready to continue, or would you like us to adjourn until tomorrow?"

"I just want to get this over with," the girl replied.

"Thank you … and I'll try to make this as easy for you as I can. When you first met Shelly Adama, what did you think of her?"

"_Objection, Your Honor!"_ Didi Cassidy jumped swiftly to her feet. "Relevance?"

"Mr. Lampkin?"

"Hostile witness, Your Honor; the defense requests some latitude here."

"Overruled," Franks declared; "go ahead, Counselor, but don't try my patience, and don't let this turn into a witch hunt."

"Thank you, Your Honor. Polyxena?"

"I hated her. I wanted her to die."

"You hated her on sight because she's a Cylon … one of the people who hurt you, and killed your mother?"

"Yes."

"Do you still hate her?"

"No! Of course not!" Everyone in the courtroom could hear the shock in Polyxena's voice.

"Why? What's changed your mind?"

"She's been so good to me … so kind. It's kind of like … kind of like she's become my mother."

"And are you a good daughter to her? Do you help her, especially now that she's pregnant?"

"Mrs. Adama has a lot of responsibilities," Polyxena agreed, "so I try and help her as much as I can."

"And when the baby is born … will you help her with the baby?"

"Sure … if she'll let me."

"But Callista is going to be a hybrid baby—half human and half cylon. Doesn't that bother you?"

"No … why would it? A baby's just a baby."

"Does Mrs. Adama want to have this baby?"

"_What? What kind of question is that? She loves her baby … more than anything else in the world!"_

"But Mrs. Adama is a cylon, Polyxena … a machine. Surely, you don't expect us to believe that a machine can feel love?"

"If you believe that, then you can't know many Cylons. Shelly loves her baby, she loves the Admiral … I think …"

Polyxena stared at Shelly, who was seated alongside Caprica Six in the first row of the visitor's gallery. She was weeping silent tears for the fragile human child whom she had long ago taken into her heart.

"I think … I think … that she loves me … as much … as much … as I love her." With those few, simple words, Polyxena Atreides felt an enormous weight disappear somewhere inside her.

"And yet she is identical in every way to these Cylons, whom you hate so intensely …"

"_She's not,"_ Polyxena furiously protested. _"She's not like them … she's nothing like them!"_

"Why, Polyxena? What is it that makes Shelly Adama so different?"

"I don't know … maybe … maybe it's that she's spent so much time with us that she became one of us."

"You mean because she was an infiltrator, living among us day after day, that she evolved, became more of a person and less of a machine?"

"I guess … yes … that must be what happened."

"But her sisters here weren't infiltrators. They have never lived among us, so they're still machines. That's why the Admiral has ordered them to be kept in chains … he thinks that, given the chance, they'll try and hurt us. What do you think, Polyxena? If they had been infiltrators, would they now be like Shelly Adama?"

Didi Cassidy was once again on her feet. "Objection; Your Honor, this is all purely speculative!"

"Overruled," Franks said as she vaguely waved the prosecuting attorney back to her seat. Doyle was already planning to invite Romo Lampkin to the Captain's table on _Prometheus_. In the gentlest possible way, he was trying not only to save his clients but to pull Polyxena away from the abyss that threatened her soul.

"I don't know." Polyxena looked at the seven blonds who so closely resembled Shelly, and she could feel a new and far more complex set of emotions warring within her. "Maybe … I guess so."

"Do you think that, back on Caprica, they had ever felt love? Do you think that they even knew what it was?"

"No … not then, and not now… I'm sure of it! I don't think that they have a clue!"

"And yet, following what we now know to be a programmed instinct to reproduce, they wanted babies. After decades of trying and failing among themselves, they were convinced that they were sterile. But they hoped that you could give them the children they so desperately wanted, and knowing nothing of love, these machines hooked you up to other machines. Do you think that they wanted to hurt you … deliberately set out to humiliate you? Did they mistreat you because they were evil, or because they were ignorant? Can a machine be evil, or is it just a machine?"

"Ignorant," Polyxena whispered. "It's because they were machines … no moral compass. The Simons were … they were so … _polite_."

"Earlier, you told Miss Cassidy that the Sixes ignored you—that they paid more attention to what the machines had to say. When they left the corpses to decompose all around you, did they respond to your pleas for help in their own way? Did they check to see whether the machines thought that you, or the baby, were in any danger?"

Polyxena frowned, trying to remember. And watching her, Shelly's heart exploded with pride. It never occurred to the child to lie … it just wasn't in her nature.

"Yes," she finally responded. "Whenever we complained, they always checked the machines."

"Would the machines have warned them that you might choke to death in your own vomit?"

"I don't think so. It would have happened too quickly."

"Polyxena, if the machines had told them that your baby was in serious danger, what would have happened?"

"Probably nothing. I don't think that any of them knew what they were doing."

"I have only one or two more questions. Did any of the other cylon men ever come to speak with you?"

"Yes … it was after they finished all the tests. This guy showed up, wearing this ridiculous red suit. He asked me if I would be willing to become his mate … have children with him."

"What did you say?"

"I told him to go frak himself, and then I spit in his face."

. . .

"Would somebody like to remind me why I volunteered for this little project," Bierns grumbled. The Colonial Secret Service agent was busily digging post holes, and he was hot, sweaty, and thoroughly miserable. Heavy manual labor, at least in this dimension, was not to his liking.

Colonel Alexander Phillips couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's expense. "Major, believe it or not, just about the only thing that the stalwart men and women of the 3654th _do not_ have any experience building is a beachfront bungalow. You're our resident expert, even if that sprawling house of yours does happen to be located in another dimension."

"Oh, stop whining, sweetheart; all this exercise is good for you." Now in her eighteenth week, Sharon had unashamedly stripped down to her bra and panties, and she was lying on a huge outcropping of granite, soaking up the afternoon sun. She could tell that her baby was enjoying the outing just as much as she was.

John decided to ignore his wife. "I don't remember it being this hard," he complained. "At Galatea Bay, everything just sort of flowed naturally into place. And the sand had the good sense to stay put!" Bierns was trying to dig down to the bedrock, so that the piles that would support the front of the house could be driven into a solid foundation. Unfortunately, with every shovelful, much of the sand was drifting back into the hole.

"Different dimensions … different rules," Sharon teased. "Besides, you're a hybrid, and you've got a lot of centurion DNA in you. So, let's banish the human side of you for the rest of the day, and put that good, old-fashioned centurion work ethic into practice. You don't hear Artemis complaining, do you? Surely you can keep up with a Six!"

"Major, are you all right?" Stallion was looking at him with genuine concern. "You took one hell of a beating on the _Pegasus_. If you need to take a break, just say the word; Artemis and I can carry on without you."

"Thanks, Hephaestus, but I'm frustrated more than anything else. There's blue sky overhead, a deep blue sea to my back, and this beach is flanked on both ends by these incredible granite cliffs. And every time I take a peek, I end up on the tilt-a-wheel. I tried lying on my back and looking up—and the whole, damned sky came crashing down. This island of yours sounds like paradise, but I wouldn't know because my world has been reduced to post holes, sand dunes, and a few stands of beach grass."

"Lieutenant, don't encourage him," Sharon called out. "I don't want John to get fat, and vertigo shouldn't prevent him from digging a few holes."

Sharon was keeping it casual, but the hard-nosed attitude that she had adopted towards her husband in recent weeks coincided with the dismantlement of the hybrid network. Like Adama, the Cylons had come to the conclusion that their child had far too little self-control, and they were now implementing Natalie's suggestion to give him a full dose of what humans called "tough love." They had watched him court death so recklessly and so often that they no longer saw anything heroic about his actions. They understood that he sought absolution for a lifetime of guilt, shame, and self-loathing. He was shamelessly indulging in the worst form of self-pity imaginable, and the Sixes and Eights were determined to attack it on every front. Sharon was fighting hard to give him some sense of self-worth. Not allowing him to use his disability as a crutch was merely one small skirmish in a much broader campaign.

"John, you should trade Sharon in for a Six," Aphrodite mischievously suggested. She was also sunning herself on the rock, her own pregnancy now in its fifteenth week. "We're not such slave drivers, and most of my sisters are eager to crawl into your bed. Poor Natalie has put her life on hold; she's waiting for you to come to your senses …"

"My husband has enough brains not to become involved with narcissistic blonds who spend an hour or more in front of the mirror every single morning," Sharon scoffed. "But he needs toughening up. I want him to work harder during the day," she smirked, "so that he'll have more stamina at night. In about a month, or so I've been told, he's going to need it."

John shuddered. Karl Agathon had barely made it through the sixth month of Sharon's pregnancy, and in her seventh month Creusa was still proving to be utterly insatiable. Lee had resigned his commission on Founder's Day, and John suspected that he had done so largely as a matter of self-preservation. Humans required more sleep than a CAG married to a Cylon in her late second or early third trimester could possibly get. Bill Adama was about to enter the eye of this particular storm, and half the fleet was laying bets that a man his age wouldn't survive the experience.

Higher up the slope, Colonel Phillips fired up his jackhammer, effectively putting an end to the good-natured bantering in which the two pregnant Cylons liked to indulge. John took off his shirt and tossed it aside; Aphrodite and Sharon didn't say a word, but for both of them it was a moment with great meaning. Doctor Fordyce had been quietly coaching the Cylons about human psychology, and she had explained how men who were severely wounded in war automatically assumed that their injuries made them unattractive to women. Artemis and Aphrodite had pushed Stallion beyond this barrier, and now they were helping to guide Sharon across the same terrain. She loved to sleep against her husband's back, the baby cradled between them, her cheek resting against the worst of the terrible scarring that ran without interruption from his neck to the top of his thighs. He had become far less self-conscious in bed, but this was the first time that he had bared his back in public. It was an important step, and the two Cylons both knew it. . . .

In the waning light, the six of them gathered to prepare and eat their supper—and to plan for the future. Phillips had helped himself to the equipment and supplies that they were now putting to such good use, but he had filled out none of the requisition forms that normally went into the files. This project was strictly off-the-books, and the six of them agreed that it should stay that way. Hephaestus Fears and his two Cylon wives were going to live on the island, and John Bierns was going to equip it with a state-of-the-art communications array. If the Cavils ever showed up and occupied New Caprica, this remote outpost would become one of the keys to humanity's survival.

. . .

She struggled to the surface, shocked and gasping for breath. She heard soft laughter, and suddenly, a face loomed out of the darkness.

"Hello, sister; did you miss me?"

_Cavil!_ The monster was leaning over the edge of the vat, so invitingly close. She longed to snap his neck, and she lashed out with the speed of a striking serpent.

But the shackles held her firmly in place. She bit down hard on her frustration.

"Now, now, D'Anna," her older brother mocked; "you're the eldest of all the cylon daughters, and you really do need to set an example for your siblings."

"What do you want, Cavil? Why did you bring me back?"

"The first thing I want is your complete and undivided attention." Cavil's eyes were on fire, and D'Anna reacted instantly, summoning her defenses to try and ward off the pain that her brothers always dispensed so liberally when they were this angry. The thirteen of them had raped her so many times that the memory had become a blur, but mercifully, the child to whom she had eventually given birth had not been conceived in this unholy alliance. God has spared her the ultimate shame.

"You haven't noticed it yet, but there's a rather elegant collar locked around your neck. It houses a very slender needle- an electrode, really- that's embedded in your spinal cord, right at the base of the medulla oblongata. If I turn this little knob just a touch …"

Cavil held a small box before her eyes.

"The results can be quite spectacular."

D'Anna screamed, the pain driving into her brain. Her eyelids began to spasm, and her body went rigid, the pain pounding its way down her arms and legs.

"Our parents spoilt you rotten, so it's hardly surprising that you became such a disobedient child. But as you can see, we now have the means to discipline you properly. There won't be any more spankings, D'Anna. Personally, I always thought that you went out of your way to provoke papa Sam; I think that you quite enjoyed having him put you across his knees. Is that how you got off? Your sisters all turned out to be quite frigid," he sighed. "We activated millions of Threes … and not an orgasm in the bunch."

"How long …"

A tidal wave of humiliation washed through the proud Three. She had only two questions, but if Cavil insisted, she would beg for the answers.

"Oh, it's been a while … roughly thirty-five years."

"And my son …"

"Thriving," Cavil smirked. "As promised, we expelled him to live among the meat sacs. Although he's forgotten his roots and become altogether human, he's turned out to be very gifted. We brought him home last year … you know how a little torture can be good for the soul? He shouldn't have survived the interrogation that one of your sisters put him through, but he did somehow. Alas, we'll never know exactly what happened because the baseship in question is one of the ones we lost during the attack on the Colonies."

"So you actually did it? You went ahead and attacked the humans?"

"Yep," Cavil said with a self-satisfied grin. "And the light show was quite spectacular … all those nukes going off hither, thither, and yon. Twelve worlds reduced to rubble, the meat sacs all but extinguished as a species. We left fifty-two billion dead … that's 99.99999 percent of the whole for anybody who's counting … _such justice … such sweet, sweet, justice_!"

"Who are you trying to kid, brother? We both know why you wanted to annihilate the humans. But," D'Anna said as she shrewdly appraised him, "it's beginning to sound like something went wrong somewhere. That's why we're having this conversation, isn't it? What's the matter, One? Did my son grow up to be a little more than you could handle?"

Cavil turned the knob, and a much more powerful wave of pain coursed through her nervous system. She screamed, and she kept screaming until he relented. But it was worth it. Her child … the baby that had filled her with such revulsion in the beginning, yet had aroused such intense feelings of love at the end … her child had somehow grown up and positioned himself to save humanity. He was carrying out the task that she had seared into the very fiber of his being. _The angel, _D'Anna thought, pride and satisfaction warming her spirit; _truly, my son is the angel of whom the prophecies speak._

"Oh, he's rebellious and willful … clever … resourceful; he reminds me a lot of Ellen. But somewhere along the line, he uncovered the truth—or some of your brothers and sisters uncovered it for him … we're still a little vague about the details. The upshot of it all is that the collective has been divided. The Ones, Fours and Fives are still adhering to the plan, but the Twos, Threes, Sixes and Eights have all gone over to the humans. The last time we ran into them, your sisters were all flat on their backs and spreading their legs, praying to that One True God of yours that one of those tiny little human sperm would make it all the way home. You'll be happy to know that it's happened—occasionally. Ah, but most of your sisters, God bless their little hearts, haven't managed to conceive. The poor things haven't been able to knock down all of mother's ingenious firewalls. If they only knew the right formula … which, by an amazing coincidence, we happen to possess …"

"You bastard … you godless freak …"

"Now, sister …"

"Go ahead, monster; twist the dial! Enjoy yourself while you can!"

"Thank you, D'Anna; I don't mind if I do." Cavil twisted the knob a third time, and let the loathsome creature's screams caress his non-existent soul. He really liked watching her thrash about.

"And you're going to help me," he added. "Your son has become an intolerable nuisance, and you're going to help me bring him home. One of the Sixes has remained loyal, and she has a collar just like yours waiting to snap around his neck. She has big plans for your little boy … very inventive plans. And she's not like me. This particular Six is a genuine sadist … the real article. She hasn't quite figured out that we reprogrammed her to reach orgasm only in the midst of another's pain, nor has she caught on to the fact that her first orgasm will leave her unsatisfied. She'll keep returning to the well, so to speak, over and over again, but only to become more and more frustrated. We're machines, Three, and machines can be programmed and reprogrammed to our heart's content. The humans are so forgiving that they've managed to convince themselves that machines can actually have free will. Well, they're wrong, and this mistake is going to cost them dearly. Imagine their surprise when, with one pass of a Raider … one short burst of code on a particular frequency … their beloved Eights start rising up to butcher them. It's going to be up close and very, very personal. It's called justice, Three … and in this case … let's just say that it's justice that's long overdue."


	3. Chapter 3: Mother and Child

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT**

CHAPTER 3

MOTHER AND CHILD

"Captain Apollo, it's a pleasure to meet you at last." Sharon Baltar got up from her desk, and walked around to offer Lee her hand.

"Thank you, Madam … um … Mrs. Baltar." The two of them shook hands.

"Don't be embarrassed, Lee," Tory Foster said with a grin. "We get that a lot around here. Old habits do indeed die hard."

Sharon gestured toward the chair, and then returned to her side of the desk. _Colonial One_ was now parked on the surface of New Caprica, and everyone expected it to serve as the presidential residence for the foreseeable future.

"And how is my sister," Sharon asked as she returned to her seat.

"Big," Apollo laughed, "and she's getting bigger all the time. We still have about three months to go, but Creusa swears that she's on the verge of exploding!"

"Is that why you resigned your commission … so that you could stay home and take care of her?"

"Actually, Madam Pres …"

"Lee, why don't you just call me Sharon? It might simplify things."

"Uh … thank you," he gratefully replied. "I suppose you know that's how people refer to you out there … out in the streets, I mean."

"Yes, Lee, I do," Sharon said in an amused tone. "What makes it so funny is that I was programmed to be a lowly maintenance worker. Changing a light bulb was supposed to be the biggest challenge I would ever face."

"Well, you're a gifted politician." It was a compliment, but Apollo meant it. "You have what's known as 'the common touch'. Maybe we need to put more maintenance workers in charge around here."

"Amen," Tory muttered under her breath.

"Your resignation, Captain," Sharon prompted.

Lee grinned sheepishly. "I wish that my motives were so noble, but the truth is … I need to get some sleep."

"So, Creusa hasn't … settled down?"

"That depends strictly on your point of view," the exhausted CAG freely confessed. "Three or four months ago, when we weren't making love, she wanted to rearrange various parts of my anatomy. Now, she just wants to make love … more or less continuously. I honestly don't know how Karl managed to hold up. Sorry, Sharon," Lee blushed; "if I wasn't so tired, I would have phrased that differently."

"That's all right, Lee." Sharon swiveled her chair so that she could glance out a nearby porthole. "Poor Gaius," she mused. "He's far too polite to ask, but he must be terrified. He has to be wondering whether an Eight who's carrying twins will prove to be twice as … insatiable."

"She mates, and then she kills," Tory snickered knowingly. It had been more than two weeks since their new President had first shared his steadily mounting sense of frustration with his Chief of Staff. Gaius had complained that Sharon no longer seemed interested in sex, and that he was beginning to climb the walls. Tory had jumped at the opportunity to become Baltar's piece of extra-marital ass, but she knew that it wouldn't last. There would come a time when Sharon wouldn't simply frak her husband—she'd devour him.

"Where is the President," Lee asked. He didn't really care, but he figured that it would be impolite not to inquire.

"He's up on _Galactica_, attending to another matter. You know, Captain, the presidency is an extremely demanding position. Gaius and I are in over our heads, and we are not shy about asking for help. We rely heavily upon Tory and Billy, and now I want to impose upon you as well."

"_Me?" _Apollo couldn't contain his surprise.

"Yes, Captain. It's my understanding that you served as Laura Roslin's military advisor. I would like you to assist me in the same capacity."

"I'll be happy to help in any way that I can, but you would be better off with a liaison officer who's still on active duty."

"No, Lee; for what I have in mind, you are the perfect choice. I need an experienced pilot who grasps strategy as well as tactics. You work comfortably with Cylons and centurions, and you have been deeply involved in the integration of our forces. The fact that you are married to a Cylon, and that the two of you will soon be devoting your time in a quite single-minded fashion to raising your daughter, also supplies you with perfect cover."

"Cover? Cover for what?" Apollo's confusion was evident on his face.

"Lee, all the Cylons in this fleet … _all of us_ … are people of deep faith. We believe … _all of us_ … that our scriptures are the word of God. And our scriptures tell us that Kara Thrace will guide us to our new home. Since Kara did not discover this planet, it therefore follows that one day we shall leave this place. But will we go peacefully and of our own volition, or will we be fleeing the Cavils and their servants? Gaius and I are planning for the worst; it would be irresponsible of us to do otherwise. If the Cavils find us, they may simply nuke the settlement from orbit. We cannot prevent them from destroying us, but we can draw up plans to defend ourselves against every other contingency, the most likely of which would be an outright military occupation. We are now in the process of doing so. My husband and I have initiated certain projects that are meant to see us through such a crisis, and it would not surprise me to learn that John and the Admiral are doing a little planning of their own. However, I haven't asked because I don't want to know."

"Captain, 'Madam President' is choosing her words here very, very carefully," Tory emphasized. The expression on her face was deadly serious. "We both know in broad strokes what the President is trying to accomplish on _Galactica _this afternoon, but we know none of the details. Sharon has initiated a number of projects about which Gaius knows nothing, and to which we have denied ourselves access. We believe that the key to our survival is keeping everything compartmentalized. People can't give up what they don't know."

"So how do I fit in, and what am I supposed to tell Creusa?" Lee was close to being physically sick. It suddenly hit him that the bill for having fallen in love was now coming due. His anxiety level was going off the charts, and it was all because of the implied threat to his wife and daughter.

"No one's been paying much attention," Sharon noted, "but the centurions on our manufacturing platforms are working around the clock. We are still quietly generating fifty-six Raiders and twelve Heavy Raiders every week, and the production schedule won't slow down when Natalie leaves. Lee, what I want you to do is take charge of the inventory. Scour the planet, and find places where you can hide our assets—under forest canopies, inside caves … whatever you deem appropriate."

"You'll need to set up fuel and ammo dumps," Tory intervened, "communications … and you should give some thought to maintenance … not only equipment and supplies but also personnel. Cylons and centurions can operate outside the temperate zone, but do keep in mind that creating a blended society is the highest purpose of this government. So, our only stipulation is that you draw upon both humans and Cylons to achieve your objectives. The rest is up to you. Design a defense for us, and requisition anything you need from Colonel Phillips, including personnel; he's expecting to hear from you."

"My gods," Lee gulped, "you've really thought about this! But what am I supposed to tell Creusa?"

"That you've taken a government job— National Security Advisor to the president's office." Tory frowned thoughtfully. "Roslin never had an independent civilian advisor in this area, which condemned her to an unhealthy reliance upon your father that at times did not serve her well. Everyone will see this as further evidence of our distrust for the military, and most will conclude that you are finally trying to step away from your father's shadow. You'll be able to hide what you're doing in plain sight."

"Lee, Tom Zarek will never assume the presidency." Sharon had decided to lay all of her cards down on this particular Triad table. "It is far too early to say whether Gaius will seek re-election, but I can say with certainty that you will be the next president of the Colonies. The office will remain in human hands, but whoever succeeds us must be married to a Cylon, and must have at least one hybrid child. Human and cylon can never retreat from the commitments that we have made to each other, so I will groom you for the job because you share our convictions, and you will never waver from them."

Apollo was so stunned that he literally did not know what to say.

And Sharon went for the kill.

"Creusa is the finest warrior in the collective, but there's something about her that you probably don't know."

"What," he managed to gasp.

"After the attacks, she went down to hunt survivors in the jungles of Scorpia. The centurions were useless there, and the conditions so harsh that most of our people quickly lost their enthusiasm for the fight. Creusa was the exception. She flourished in an environment that drove everyone else away. Your wife is a predator, Lee, and a superb guerilla fighter. If we are attacked, she will insist upon leading the resistance, and I don't want you to get in her way. I'll be dead …"

Sharon stole a quick glance at the centurion standing, a silent sentinel, in the corner of her office. She had given her personal guardian a string of orders, any one of which could be activated with a simple codeword.

"And Gaius will be in hiding, directing the government from a secret location. We will be relying upon you and Creusa to coordinate our defense. Lee, I hope that none of this ever comes to pass, but if it does … get our people off this planet alive, Captain Apollo, and they will probably insist on naming you President for life."

Sharon stood up, signaling that the meeting was over. "We will see a great deal of each other in the days to come, Mr. Adama, but we will never again speak of these things. Do whatever you have to do, but spare us the details."

. . .

"Is everybody comfy," Cavil smugly asked. It had been a wonderful day, and it was about to get better. He had decided not to box his two prisoners, but to bring them along for the ride. They were heavily chained, but it was the collars that put him firmly in control.

"Pardon my display of bad manners," he added once the centurions had strapped the two women into their seats. "D'Anna, this is Aspasia, the first Six of the brief-lived second generation. Aspasia, this particular copy is the first Three— papa Sam's personal favorite. You two have so much in common. For the longest time, in fact, the two of you were the only copies in the collective to have conceived a child."

"There were others, One, but you slaughtered them all." The raw hatred to be heard in Aspasia's voice was surpassed only by the fire in her eyes. Given the chance, she would have killed her brother on the spot.

"Ah, that's true," Cavil sighed. "You'll have to forgive me, sister; my memory isn't what it used to be."

"There's nothing wrong with your memory," D'Anna observed; "it's all the glitches in your programming that worry us."

"True," he conceded; "that's all too true. For example, I almost forgot to test this little device of mine and make sure that it works on both of you." Cavil turned the knob on the controller, and D'Anna screamed in pain.

"Now, in theory, if I flick this switch here …"

Aspasia began to spasm, the pain so overwhelming that she couldn't take in enough oxygen to voice it. A pitiful mewling sound escaped her lips, followed by a small trickle of blood.

"And on this setting …"

The two Cylon females both screamed in unison, and they didn't stop until Cavil reluctantly chose to disarm the controller.

"Let's see," he added as he began to tick off points on his fingers. "Corrupt the genetic formula for the Twos and Threes, and put all of the genetic material into an airlock. Check. Put all of the CPU's housing boxed Twos and Threes into said airlock. Check. Vent everything into space. Check. Hmmm … I think we're done here."

But D'Anna and Aspasia refused to play Cavil's game. "What's wrong with this Eight," Aspasia asked instead.

A nude Eight was crouched against the opposite wall of the Heavy Raider. She was staring fixedly at her two sisters, but hadn't reacted to their screams in any way.

"Oh, she has needs," Cavil smirked, "and I'm afraid that neither of you can fulfill them. Now, if you were male, and your hormones were acting up, I can assure you that she wouldn't be quite this docile. You see, she now has one thing, and only one thing, on the brain. We've switched her on, and she'll stay switched on until she gets pregnant. That's the only thing that will shut her down …"

"You son of a bitch," Aspasia snarled. _"You did this to your own sisters?"_

"Hey, Ellen wanted the Eights to serve as the vanguard that would lead us all into her brave new world! Well, we've come to the conclusion that she had the right idea all along, but these days we're in a bit of a hurry, so we've slimmed the program down a bit. We won't have to endure all those time-consuming courtship and bonding rituals, and love is no longer a part of the equation. The new baseline is sex, in its purest, most unadulterated form. Of course, in the end the Eights' many hybrid whelps will serve our purposes … not Ellen's."

"Still planning on conquering the universe," Aspasia mocked.

"Yes, my dear … and we've made a lot of progress while you've been away. Our new baseships are state-of-the-art, but the hybrids simply haven't been able to keep up. Your daughter was supposed to rectify that little problem for us, but alas, her older brother's interference has caused her to slip through our fingers. Think of the Eight as plan B."

"All of this scheming will come to nothing, brother." D'Anna's voice rang with assurance. "God has other plans, and our children will bring them to pass."

"Our parents are many things," Cavil snapped, "but god isn't one of them."

As he engaged the controls and pulled away from the Colony, Cavil looked malevolently at his two younger sisters.

"We have to make a detour before rejoining the fleet," he said in a voice dripping with malice. "I need to contaminate the amniotic fluid in which the husks of the Twos and Threes are being matured, and we're going to pick up a third passenger. You'll quite like this particular Six, D'Anna. She was one of the first three to infiltrate the Colonies, and damned if she didn't go and fall in love with your son. I promise you, we're going to do everything we can to arrange a family reunion—a tearful, family reunion."

Cavil punched in the first set of coordinates, and the Heavy Raider jumped away.

. . .

"Well, well … well," Romo exclaimed. "It's President Gaius Baltar, _and_ the chief spy!" He peered at the new arrivals over the top of his dark glasses. "To what do my clients and I owe this singular honor?"

Lampkin and the three Simons had been cooling their heels in the interrogation room for the last fifty minutes. Romo presumed that Bierns and the President were trying to get under his skin, but the wily attorney had wasted far too much time in courthouse corridors to be upset by so obvious a ruse. Still, Romo could not help but admire the spook's professionalism: a less subtle man would have allowed a full hour to pass before forcing this confrontation.

Bierns looked directly into the mirror and drew an imaginary knife across his throat. In the observation booth, the two marines currently on duty instantly turned off the audio and visual feeds. Although it violated posted regulations, this wasn't the first time that they had been ordered to shut down their equipment, and neither man expected it to be the last.

"Mr. Lampkin, this meeting is off the grid." Bierns didn't bother with introductions.

"Major, for those of us who don't speak spy, would you care to translate?"

"We're here to offer your clients a choice between two unpalatable alternatives, and we don't want witnesses."

"We would very much like them to work for us on a classified project that falls a bit outside my areas of expertise, and in any event will require more time than I can set aside," Baltar volunteered. "If they agree to cooperate, their lives will be spared. If they achieve concrete and independently verifiable results, they'll receive a full pardon." Gaius reached into one of his jacket pockets and pulled out three unsigned copies of the official document. He passed them over to the lawyer for his inspection.

"If they turn us down," Bierns said in a dangerously flat tone, "they will be taken directly from this chamber to a Heavy Raider, which will immediately jump to a point well outside resurrection range. There each of them will have an opportunity to discover how long a Cylon can survive in space without a protective suit. Rumor has it that the answer is … not very long."

"Major, surely you're aware of the fact that my clients haven't been formally charged with a crime. It pains me to say it, but they are entitled to a trial."

"Don't be silly, Mr. Lampkin. You know as well as I do that justice is a figment of the imagination. We live in a world of expedient outcomes."

"What is it that you want us to do," one of the Simons asked.

"We want you to develop a biological weapon," Baltar answered. "We require an airborne contaminant that can stay dormant in the vacuum of space for a very long time. The ideal pathogen would be fatal to any Cylon who comes in contact with it, but we need the carrier to be asymptomatic. In the best of all possible worlds, Raiders and centurions would be fully immune."

"You want us to exterminate our own people?" Bierns thought that he detected a note of outrage in the Simon's voice, but with Fours it was hard to be sure.

"We have no intention of unleashing such a weapon against the cylon species," Baltar said in a huff. "As a last resort, it will be targeted against the Ones, but we will go to elaborate lengths to insure that it does not infect the Cylons in this fleet. Genocide is not at issue here."

"Fours don't have a problem with genocide, Mr. President. As counsel for the defense so eloquently phrased it yesterday in court, they are morally incompetent. They just want assurances that they won't become the victims of their own bug."

Baltar noticed that one of the Simons had started to sweat, which he found highly amusing.

"Well, then, I suppose that they should take care not to break anything in the lab," he chortled.

"You raise a good point, Major." Romo chose to ignore Gaius Baltar; the hybrid CSS agent was clearly a nasty piece of work, which made him endlessly fascinating. "How far are you prepared to take this? What happens if my clients succeed, and it becomes necessary to test the pathogen on living tissue?"

"We have plenty of Ones stored away on the resurrection ship. We'll use them as guinea pigs."

"Medical experiments on prisoners of war?" Romo arched his eyebrows. "Isn't this the very act for which my clients have been sent to the brig?"

"Yes, it is, Mr. Lampkin. But frankly, I'm surprised that you have yet to grasp the obvious."

"Pray tell, Major: what is it that I'm missing?"

"We're not the ones on trial here."

_A very nasty piece of work,_ Romo decided.

"I'll do it," one of the Simons suddenly blurted out.

"Excellent," Baltar stated. He was extremely pleased with the way this meeting had played out. "You'll stay on _Galactica_, and I'll arrange to have a laboratory set up for you. Security will be tight, we'll incorporate the usual safety features, and I'll personally walk you through the necessary protocols and procedures. Every battlestar has samples of some really interesting viruses tucked safely away … human, avian, animal … you name it, we've got it. I'll see to it that you have access to everything except the strains that would wipe us out. We wouldn't," the President laughed, "want to put temptation squarely in your path!"

Bierns twirled his finger high over his head, and in moments a full squad of marines arrived to escort the Fours back to their cell. But Baltar gestured for Lampkin to remain in his seat.

"Let's talk about the Sixes," the President suggested. "They're such lovely creatures, but in this case … would it be fair to say that your clients really are clueless?"

"They are guilty of serious crimes, Mr. President, but the very concept is meaningless to them. However the panel of judges decides, justice will not be served here."

"I tend to agree, which is why I am inclined to look for a solution that simultaneously acknowledges both their guilt and their innocence. The major and I have come up with what we hope is an acceptable compromise—and, a reasonably just one. Unfortunately, I have to get back to the surface to chair a Quorum meeting, but please carry on in my absence. I will honor the specifics of whatever agreement the two of you hammer out." With that, Gaius excused himself and left the room.

The two men looked warily at one another. Bierns had already developed a healthy respect for his opponent, but he also knew that he held the winning hand. Only a fool believed that trials were decided on the basis of the evidence, or that Triad pots always flowed to the best hand. Romo Lampkin was no fool.

"You're very good in the courtroom." Bierns decided to open with a heartfelt compliment. "Your cross-examination of Polyxena Atreides dovetailed beautifully with your opening statement. You've transformed your clients into well-meaning victims of their own ignorance so convincingly that I doubt if you'll even have to present the defense. Right now, I'd say that the judges will vote 4-1 for acquittal."

"That's an interesting assessment, Major—coming as it does from a man who hasn't spent one minute in the courtroom. Of course, that's why we're having this conversation, isn't it? The sheer brilliance of my legal maneuvering notwithstanding, in the end the judges will vote exactly the way that you and the President want them to vote. From the outset, I have gone on the presumption that this farce is strictly for public consumption."

"Ah, so you do have a keen grasp of reality after all," Bierns conceded with a grudging smile. John thought it over, and decided that he liked Romo Lampkin. The man reminded him of General Berriman.

"Obviously, neither you nor the President wants to see the Sixes go to the gallows." Romo was drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "Just out of curiosity, Major: did you script Miss Cassidy's lines for her? She's a defense lawyer's dream come true. Every third word out of her mouth creates another opening for me to exploit."

"No, Mr. Lampkin; we've left her very much to her own devices. The President has enormous faith in you. He is convinced that your rhetorical skills are up to any and every challenge."

"So, when the curtain falls, Major, how will the drama end?"

"Everyone lives more or less happily ever after. In your closing statement, you will argue that your clients are misguided and therefore deserve leniency. But you will also acknowledge that a great wrong was committed here, and that the victims deserve justice no less than the defendants. You will ask the court not to punish these Sixes so much as to educate them in the meaning of right and wrong. They'll each receive a two year sentence, to be served in the New Caprica City jail, but five thousand hours of community service will keep them busy. They'll spend fifty hours a week washing out bed pans, digging ditches … whatever the needs of the moment require. When it's over, they enter our gloriously blended society with a clean slate."

A less seasoned attorney would have been hard pressed to mask his surprise, but Romo Lampkin had learned a lot more from Joe Adama than the intricacies of the law. The deal being offered him was far better than the one that he had been prepared to accept. For a fleeting moment, he wondered why his adversaries were being so generous.

Bierns got up to leave. "Oh," he added; "one last thing. In my absence, some of my friends will be keeping a close eye on your clients. If they cause any trouble … any trouble at all? They will be terminated and boxed, and when I return I will personally see to it that the CPU's are dumped into the nearest sun."

. . .

Kara was holding her breath, and trying desperately not to move. Every pass of Boomer's tongue grazed the spot, and sent another wave of pleasure coursing through her. The muscles in her thighs were on fire, the warmth spreading outward, her body coming increasingly alive with anticipation.

"_Gods,"_ she finally moaned, _"where did you learn to do this?"_ The second born of the hybrid children would have sworn that her brain was melting, a lava flow destined sooner rather than later to enter the sea between her legs.

Sharon tasted her juices, and noted in passing that Kara's flow was much heavier than it had been when they first started making love. And Sharon knew why, for in this as in so many things, she knew Kara much better than Kara knew herself. Boomer understood that Kara could never completely surrender herself to a man, for she confused surrender with submission. With Lee … even with Zak … she had always held back, kept the edge that allowed her to maintain control. Sensing no threat from this direction, Kara had opened herself completely to her cylon lover, the need to balance passion with anger finally banished.

"Do you love me," Sharon paused just long enough to whisper.

"_Yes," _Kara hissed; _"oh, gods … yes … yes … yes!"_

Kara screamed as the orgasm started to build inside her, and desperately she reached out to grasp Boomer's head and hold it rigidly in place. Kara's body morphed into a living and very taut bow, and the cylon slipped her hands beneath her in order to get a firm grip on her shapely buttocks. Now Kara truly could not move. She was pinned by Boomer's hands and transfixed by Boomer's tongue. She screamed and screamed and screamed. . . .

"Do you think that anybody heard us," Boomer teased. It was a rhetorical question because they were in her bed on Olivia's baseship, and all Cylons had very keen hearing.

"Let's make sure," Kara replied. She kissed Boomer passionately, and then she reared back and screamed at the ceiling.

"_Kara Thrace Six loves Sharon Valerii Eight! Do you hear me? I said … Kara Thrace Six loves Sharon Valerii Eight!"_

"_And Sharon Valerii Eight loves Kara Thrace Six,"_ Boomer yelled in turn.

The two of them started to giggle helplessly, and in the surrounding chambers a surprisingly large number of Cylons smiled proudly. Their daughter was happy. She was finally happy.

And in a matter of days, it would all come crashing down.

They had confronted Adama in his quarters, the admiral's two surrogate daughters, each of them certain that they would get what they wanted. Kara would captain the _Adriatic_ on the long journey to the cylon Earth, but she wanted Boomer to manage the ship so that she could concentrate on planetary surveys and somehow fulfill the destiny that cylon scripture had preordained for the second born child, the Guide.

But Adama had refused, and he had been adamant. When the Tighs had let it be known that they wanted to move down to the planet to be with their children and grandchildren, Bill had decided that Sonja Six would take Saul's place in the CIC while continuing to serve as _Galactica's _CAG. It was brutal duty, but he was confident that the Cylon could handle it. Apollo's abrupt resignation from the Colonial military had, however, created a gaping hole in Natalie's command structure. Kat would take over Kara's administrative duties, but her pregnancy would leave her desk bound on Pelea's baseship. Bill had leapt at Natalie's suggestion that they promote Racetrack to replace Lee, but Margaret had never exercised command, and it would take her time to learn the ropes. The admiral had patiently explained that he therefore needed Boomer to remain as CAG on Olivia's baseship. The two young women had been furious, and Bill had only managed to calm them down by confiding some of the highly classified details of John Bierns' strategic plan. Outnumbered and outgunned, he was planning on waging an asymmetric campaign that, in its initial phases, would rely heavily upon hit and run tactics that would severely challenge cylon air wings that had historically relied upon sheer weight of numbers to dominate the battlefield. John _needed_ Boomer, and Adama had eventually worn them both down by appealing to their sense of duty.

"When this is all over," Kara sighed.

"Don't," Boomer admonished. She put her fingers on Kara's lips. "Don't jinx us. You go find Earth, or some other habitable rock, and hurry home. I'm gonna go kick Cavil's ass, and put a permanent dent in his maniacal plans for galactic conquest. Who knows? By the time I get back, I may even have my own baseship."

"Just come back in one piece," Kara pleaded.

"Hey, I'm a Cylon! There's a resurrection ship parked out there that has my name on it!"

"But it won't be there to support you the whole time … that's not the way John's laid it out. I love you, Sharon; please … _be careful_!"

. . .

"_Maybe,"_ Helo finally managed to gasp. He was bent over, clutching his sides. He was sure that he had never laughed this hard in his entire life.

"Go on," Sharon urged. Hera was screaming so loudly that she wasn't sure that Karl could hear her.

"_We ought to put up a sign,"_ he finished. _"EIGHTS … ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!"_

"One of us needs to change her," Sharon warned.

"I'll do it," Karl volunteered. "I'm used to sticky situations."

Helo picked up his tiny daughter, and carried her over to the changing table. Although they were at the very top of the list to receive an apartment once the population of the _Adriatic_ had been settled, the Agathon family was still living in a tent. It was packed with Hera's things, and not all of them had come back from the Colonies with Natalie's expedition. Sharon had been enormously touched when human women, total strangers, had begun to drop by with gifts for the baby. Knitted booties, homemade sweaters … one of _Galactica_'s deck crew had even manufactured a harness that would leave her hands free when she was carrying the baby against her chest. She was careful never to go out in public without first dressing Hera in one or more of the many gifts that they had received.

"Hey, Hera, did you have to hit her with one of your patented stink bombs?" Helo nuzzled his nose against her chest, and quickly ran through his catalog of funny sounds. Hera instantly stopped crying, and Karl looked up into her unnaturally large eyes. He saw the wisdom of the ages there. Indeed, he would have sworn on a stack of scriptures as high as Mount Peleon that his daughter knew everything that was to be known in the universe. He saw this frightening wisdom in the eyes of every newborn child, and as always, he now found himself asking how at some point it would all slip away.

"I've never seen one of my sisters run like that," Sharon laughed. "The look of sheer, unmitigated terror on her face … _was Hera actually spitting at her_?"

"I don't know," Karl answered; "but I do know that our little girl has an impeccable sense of timing. Don't you, Hera? You don't like your aunts very much, do you sweetheart? You scream your little head off just about every time one of them picks you up."

"Poor Eight," Sharon lamented. "It's one thing to have Hera kick up a fuss, but to poop like that … and it was _so loud_!" She caught Helo's eye, and they both started laughing again. Hera, for her part, began to gurgle contentedly.

"The thing that gets me," Karl observed, "is how she can always tell that they're not you. I mean, she never misses, and yet the other Eights are identical to you in every way."

"No, they're not," Sharon countered. "For one thing, they're not lactating."

"So, what … you smell different to her?"

"Helo, don't I smell different to you?" Sharon's tone was very soft, and something in it made the lanky pilot look up. Sharon had drifted close, and she was staring up at him with that inviting yet quizzical way of hers that always made him go weak in the knees.

"You know what today is, don't you?" Devils were dancing in Sharon's eyes, and Karl felt himself start to harden.

"It's been six weeks," Karl breathed; "six weeks and two days." His body was coming alive with long suppressed desire.

"Been counting, have you," Sharon breathed into his ear.

"Weeks … days … hours … _minutes_," Helo conceded, his voice one deep ache. Cottle had firmly instructed them to avoid sex for the first six weeks after Hera's delivery, and they had scrupulously followed his advice. Sharon wasn't sure that she was ready physically, and she was damned certain that she wasn't ready emotionally, but she understood that Helo's love for her needed a physical outlet.

"I've arranged for Sharon Bierns to come by and take Hera for a walk … a long walk." Sharon wrapped her arms around Helo's neck, and pulled him down so that she could kiss him. "Do you think that you can take a couple of hours away from your investigation?"

Since Hera's birth, they had spent hours cuddling, and Sharon discovered that she had never loved her man as much as she did now, when the true depth of his consideration and caring had become so obvious. He was a wonderful husband, and a wonderful father. . . .

"_It's the oxytocin,"_ Ishay had explained to her. _"Breast feeding is causing it to flood your body, and it's suppressing your sex drive. But you're exhausted, Sharon; anybody can see that. Even a Cylon needs rest, and you're not getting nearly enough. It may be months before you're ready to enjoy sex again."_

"_No, sweetheart," _Ellen had patiently explained, _"we did not design you to 'switch off' after the birth of your first child. Don't you want more children? Haven't you and Helo already decided to have another child? There are no hidden protocols. We gave you free will … never forget that. You are far more human than you realize, and you and Karl will have to work out the postpartum blues just like any human couple would."_

"I'll give Hera her bath," Helo said, "and then I'll dress her. Why don't you get some rest?"

"I'll have to feed her; otherwise, she'll be cranky."

"I know." Karl loved to watch his wife nurse their child. Each time, he was certain that he was witnessing the most beautiful sight in all of creation. . . .

After her sister had come and gone, Sharon hung a prominent DO NOT DISTURB sign on their tent flap. Helo was already in bed, waiting for her. When she joined him, he took her in his arms and gently kissed her.

"Let's take this slow," he suggested. "And if it starts to hurt, you tell me, and we'll do something else. I want this to be good for you, Sharon."

"I love you, Helo. I wish there were better words, something I could say that has never been said before, but it's true. I love you with all my heart."

Karl Agathon was deeply, deeply touched, and it suddenly came to him that he had never loved Sharon as much as he did now. He had sought out Larissa Karanis, and the nurse had counseled him on the signs to which he should be alert in the uncharted territory of a postpartum cylon universe. But it was all guesswork. Ishay would keep a close eye on Sharon's hormonal activity, but she had stressed that Helo would have to rely on his instincts to guide him through the wilderness.

_Be patient,"_ she had advised. _"Don't rush things, and follow Sharon's lead. When she's ready, she'll let you know."_

Helo pulled Sharon close and kissed her again. His free hand began to wander across her body. For the moment, he was happy just to touch her … to feel the warmth of her breath and skin against his own. He would follow her forever, he realized, wherever she wanted to go.

. . .

"All right … take a deep breath, please … good … and … exhale slowly."

Dr. Michael Robert listened to the elderly Sagittaron's breathing, but he didn't need a stethoscope to determine that fluid had already begun to build up in his lungs. The telltale wheezing sound reminded the Caprican physician of a bellows that had sprung a leak. New Caprica was a damp planet, and the entire medical staff was anticipating an outbreak of respiratory infections, particularly among the very young and the very old.

While his patient dressed, Robert sat at his desk and hastily scribbled a short note to add to his file. Sagittarons didn't trust doctors, and they regarded medicine as an affront to the gods. The doctor knew that he would have to tread carefully.

"Mr. Calloney, you have a mild case of pneumonia—what lay people sometimes refer to as 'walking pneumonia'. In a younger person, I would not regard it as life threatening, but you're 71 and this is a wet climate. So, I don't want to let this go untreated because it could progress to the point where it would overwhelm your immune system's natural ability to fight back."

Dr. Robert stood up, and walked over to a tall metal cabinet. He poked around inside, found what he was searching for, and returned to his desk with a vial of pills in his hand.

"I'm giving you a ten day supply of hydroxicillin. It's an antibiotic, and it should clear out the congestion in your lungs. Take three pills a day, preferably with food, and don't stop until you've completed the full course. That's important … even if you begin to feel better in two or three days, don't stop taking the medicine. Now, this drug has been known to make people nauseous, so if you find that you can't keep it down, come back to see me as quickly as you can. I'll leave a standing order with the admissions staff for an antiemetic … that's a drug that combats nausea and vomiting. You would take it at the start of a meal … about twenty minutes before swallowing the antiviral."

Mike Robert had been practicing medicine for more than thirty years. He knew exactly what to say, and he had an entire arsenal of expressions at his disposal, all of them designed to reassure frightened patients.

"You'll be fine, Duncan … and there's nothing in hydroxicillin that violates your traditions. It's a natural product, with no artificial or chemical additives. You'll be fine." A calming voice … a sympathetic and caring demeanor—this was Mike Robert's best bedside manner. Duncan Calloney would never suspect that the expiry date on the antibiotic had long since come and gone, or that more than half the pills in the bottle were placebos. The physician had covered his tracks well. An autopsy would show trace amounts of hydroxicillin in the patient's blood stream, and everyone would assume that the Sagitttaron had stubbornly refused to follow his doctor's instructions to the letter. It would be just one more death that the authorities would chalk up to Sagittaron stupidity and superstition.

. . .

"One of you really knows her way around the kitchen," Marc Jacobs remarked with a contented sigh. He pushed his chair away from the table, and stretched his legs. "I haven't eaten this well since the last time that I was home on leave … and my mother was a _very _good cook."

"Philista is very talented," Sharon bragged; "and not just in the kitchen."

"I think that's my cue to leave," Philista blushed. "I've found that the best time to bargain with our neighbors is when their stomachs are full." She picked up a hamper that she had packed before Marc's arrival, and hastened from the tent.

"I'm sorry that I can't offer you anything stronger than wine," Sharon apologized. "Philista and I don't drink very much, so we sell our allotment of ambrosia and brandy on the black market. We are both content to make do with tea."

"That's all right," the young lieutenant said with a smile. "After so many months of going without, I've lost my taste for alcohol anyway."

"Marc, can I ask you a question … and demand an honest answer?"

"Sure." He knew exactly what was on Sharon's mind.

"Do you hate Cylons?"

"Six months ago," he responded truthfully, "I would have said yes. I would have condemned the lot of you without a hearing. But not anymore," he conceded. "Like everything else in life, you've become … complicated."

"And yet, my sisters tell me that after you came up from Picon to live on the baseship, you rejected everyone who approached you. I wonder: do you simply find us to be unattractive, or is it the case that you still see us as machines?"

"Neither," the lieutenant instantly protested. "On the baseship, everything happened so fast. One day you were the enemy, and the next day you became our friends and allies. It takes time to adjust to something like that. Threes, Sixes, Eights … you're all incredibly beautiful. I was flattered, and I was tempted—but I wasn't ready. And besides," he added defensively, "we were all working sixteen hours a day, every day. Most nights, I didn't even have enough energy left to get undressed. I just fell into bed, dirty clothes and all."

"So, you don't consider yourself prejudiced against us? You're open to a relationship with a Cylon?"

"I think so," he hesitantly responded. "In fact, I'm sure of it."

Sharon dropped to her knees in front of him, and steadily held his gaze. "Prove it," she softly suggested.

The young engineer visibly hesitated. He gulped, but then he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her deeply. Sharon welcomed the kiss, and reciprocated in kind. The moment lingered.

"Does that answer your question," he eventually whispered.

Sharon smiled, ran her fingers through his hair, and kissed him again. Her intent was transparently clear.

"_But you're married … a manus ceremony,"_ Marc said in a shocked voice.

"And my wife has very thoughtfully absented herself so that you and I might become … much better acquainted," Sharon murmured. She rose up, took the lieutenant by the hand, and led him gently to her marriage bed. "Philista believes that you are without prejudice, but she wants to be sure …"

Sharon's hands began to wander, and she kissed the lieutenant much more hungrily.

"About what," Jacobs finally managed to say. His hands had also taken on a life of their own.

"If you are truly able to accept me as a person, Philista wants me to invite you to join our household."

"A group marriage …"

"A trinity … we desire no larger number."

Sharon unbuttoned Marc's shirt, and rushed to plant kisses on his chest. Her fingers drifted below his waist; she could feel the taut muscles in his thighs.

Marc rolled Sharon onto her back, and beneath her sweater he quickly discovered that she was wearing neither blouse nor bra. His fingers lightly swept across her nipples; Sharon's whole body tensed, and she started to moan with pleasure. . . .

When Marc Jacobs awoke the following morning, he found himself sandwiched in between the beautiful young human, and her equally beautiful Cylon partner. If there was a better way to start the day, he couldn't begin to imagine what it might possibly be.

. . .

The young officer stood rigidly to attention, and held his salute. "Sir, I'm Lieutenant Kevin Riley, the first watch tactical officer on _Pegasus_; thank you for seeing me."

Adama looked up from the mass of paperwork that was littering his desk, and casually returned the lieutenant's salute. "At ease," he ordered. Bill returned to the fuel consumption report that was the source of his current headache. The fleet was awash in tylium, but the cylon tanker would be heading out with Natalie's baseships, and it would be carrying every drop of processed fuel that its enormous nacelles could hold. The _Adriatic_ was being outfitted with auxiliary pods that would dramatically extend its range, while the rest of the fleet was continuously burning off fuel just to maintain its geosynchronous orbit over the settlement. All of the scouting missions that the admiral had dispatched to date had failed to locate additional resources within the nebula, and he took it for granted that the Cavils had located and were presently mining every source of tylium rimward of New Caprica.

Adama came to a decision, and reached for the phone.

"XO," Sonja Six answered in the CIC.

"Colonel, this is the Admiral." Sonja had taken the oath and formally joined the Colonial fleet on Founder's Day. The Six was now officially second in command of the battlestar _Galactica_, which was becoming increasingly top heavy with female personnel. Threes, Sixes, and Eights held down more than a third of the jobs in the CIC, and they made up roughly a quarter of the battlestar's entire complement.

"I want to begin relocating the civilian ships that are atmosphere worthy to the surface. Contact the captains of the ships in question, and ask them to draw up a list of their maintenance requirements. We might as well use this down time to overhaul the fleet, and that includes craft like the _Zephyr_ that have to remain in space. Have Chief Laird divide the knuckledraggers into two work details, but tell him that I want our people to rotate weekly between _Galactica_ and the planet. Fresh air will boost morale, and make the shifts in hard vacuum easier to bear."

"Consider it done, sir. Do you want me to transfer Chief Tyrol's crew back from the baseship to take up the slack in the hangar bay?"

"No, I don't think so. They have their hands full over there on the stealth Raider project. But keep the training sessions up and running until the day Kara ships out. Tell Chief Tyrol and Specialist Seelix that they can expect to pull double shifts from this point on. Our Sixes and Eights have to master every aspect of Raptor and Viper maintenance, and that includes the avionics package."

Adama hung up the phone, and finally brought his attention to bear on Kevin Riley. "You asked for this meeting," he said sternly. "What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I'm here formally to request reassignment to one of the baseships that you're sending out to tackle the Cavils. And I'm not the only one who wants a transfer." Riley reached into his jacket, and pulled out a plain, white envelope. He laid it on top of the clutter on the admiral's desk. "Every man and woman on this list is a _Pegasus_ officer or rating. We're all tired of sitting on our duffs, sir. We want to get back in the fight."

Adama slit open the envelope, and glanced curiously at its contents. There were several pages, and he estimated that he was looking at more than three hundred names.

"Three hundred and twelve of us are on the list, Admiral … and there's another fifty-two names here." Riley dropped a second envelope on the pile. "These men would also like to volunteer, but they want to bring their … uh… their Cylon sweethearts along with them. The Eights in questions have talked it over among themselves, and they're all keen to fight right alongside us."

"Mr. Riley, are you and your shipmates aware of the fact that this will be a cylon operation from start to finish? Natalie Six will be in overall command of the task force, but every unit in her fleet will be led by one of her sisters. Are you prepared to take orders from the Cylons, Mr. Riley? Are you prepared to follow their orders without question?"

"Yes, sir; I am. We all are." Riley hesitated for a long moment, and Adama courteously gave him time to collect his thoughts. "Sir, it's not my job to identify the enemy—my job's to fight them. We all know how unpredictable war can be. This one … the way it's playing out … it reminds me a lot of the Second Sagittaron War. Do you remember your history, sir? Caprica and Sagittaron were bitter enemies in the beginning, but then the Sagittaron alliance with Leonis and Tauron collapsed, and Caprica and Sagittaron ended up fighting on the same side. Sir … I … I just want to do my job."

"Very well, Mr. Riley; I will take your request for transfer under advisement, and I will communicate it to Commander Six at our next scheduled briefing. That's at 08:00 hours the day after tomorrow."

Adama dropped the rosters into a desk drawer, and slammed it shut. He grabbed a fresh report from the stack atop his desk, this one having to do with an outbreak of something called Mellorak sickness among the Sagittaron population down on the surface.

"In the interim, if you're serious about this, I suggest that you find some pens and paper and get to it. Come back in twenty-four hours with something more substantial than a list of names. Education and training … work histories … on a case by case basis, give Commander Six something to work with. That's all, Lieutenant; you're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." Kevin Riley came to attention, and then about-faced and walked out of the admiral's quarters.

_Mellorak looks nasty, _Bill thought. _But we're catching a couple of breaks here. It's not airborne, and there's a drug that will kill it off if it's administered in time. I'd better have Cottle check our stock of bittamucin, and let's see if we can get out in front of it by inoculating the pilots …_

_Zeus Almighty … what about the Cylons? Are they immune? Gods! Creusa's downstairs right this frakking minute—and Shelly mingled with half the population on Founder's Day!_

Adama picked up the phone, and ordered a Raptor to be readied for his immediate departure. He needed to talk with Doc Cottle, and he needed to do it right now.

. . .

In the privacy of his own Raptor, John Bierns finished reading the same report that had sent Bill Adama scurrying down to the surface. He leaned back in the ECO's chair, and reviewed the passages that he had underlined:

_Mellorak originates in the kidneys …_

_It aggressively attacks both the respiratory and immune systems …_

_Transmission occurs through skin contact, sexual intercourse, and the exchange of other bodily fluids …_

_Coughing, a general feeling of lassitude, and other flulike symptoms invite misdiagnosis in the early stages of the infection …_

_Curable if correctly diagnosed within 48 hours of onset of symptoms; otherwise, fatal within the following three to five days …_

_This is definitely worth pursuing, _the CSS agent cold-bloodedly concluded._ I'll need a sample of the virus, and an isolation chamber where I can warehouse a One and a Five. Let's see … we can try injecting it directly into the bloodstream, but introducing it into an open wound would be better yet. Remember to ask Cottle whether it's feasible to apply it with a throat swab. And let's not overlook the 64,000 cubit question: what would happen if we contaminated a baseship's data stream, or got the infection to run wild on a resurrection ship?_

After mulling it over, Ghostrider decided to hitch a ride on the next Heavy Raider heading down to the settlement. Hopefully, Cottle would have all the answers, but if not …

_I wonder what it would cost me to bribe one of the Sagittarons to play a little game of kiss and don't tell?_

. . .

She stalked them quietly through the oppressive mist, the heavy ground fog no challenge to the keenness of cylon sight. Not that it would have been difficult to trail them in any case: the sound of their drunken laughter carried a long way.

The knuckledraggers and marines from the _Pegasus_ were holding a formal wake for their murdered comrade—at least, such was the excuse for tonight's carouse. The settlement on New Caprica was not yet a week old, but so far this particular pack of vermin had an unblemished record: they had managed to drink themselves into oblivion each and every night. For this, the Eight was immensely grateful.

During the day, the pack stuck together, and so far neither she nor her sisters had discovered a way to isolate their quarry. But at night, it was not so much the absence of light as the weakness of the human bladder that improved the odds—that, and the mysterious human insistence on privacy when discharging bodily functions. Periodically, one or more of the _Pegasus_ scum would retreat into the shadows to relieve themselves: they all behaved as if the entire planet was a urinal drifting through space for their personal convenience. It was just a matter of time, the Eights knew … and in those selfsame shadows they were lying in wait.

"Hey, guys, wait up! I've gotta take a leak!"

"Ah, somebody find Karl a tree," a disembodied female voice said unsympathetically.

"Nearest one's about five miles away … on the other side of the river," a third voice gibed. "Of course, there's always the latrine; it's gotta be around here someplace."

"There's no frakkin' way!"

"What's the matter, Hobbes? You afraid one of those hot to trot toaster babes will slither outta the drain and snip it off when you're not paying attention? You want me to stand guard while you're taking care of business?"

"Sarge, he'll miss the mark for sure," a loud male voice taunted. "Hobbes is such a pantywaist that you'll have to hold it for him—you know … steady his aim?"

_Karl Hobbes! _The Eight's eyes gleamed with anticipation. One of her prey was only meters ahead, a gray outline in the swirling fog. She willed him to leave the street … it did not matter in which direction. Her sisters were waiting, and they would have him.

"Just gimme a moment," Hobbes slurred; "one alleyway's same as the next."

The shadow moved off to the right, and disappeared between two rows of tents. . . .

A hand suddenly emerged from the darkness, and before Karl Hobbes could even register what was happening, his assailant had slapped a piece of strapping tape across his mouth. His arms were brutally twisted behind his back and cuffed, a filthy burlap sack dropped over his head and cinched tightly around his neck. Something slammed into the back of his knees, dropping him to the ground. In a matter of seconds, more tape secured his ankles, and then two black-clad Sharons picked him up and carried him off into the night, dislocating both of his shoulders in the process.

. . .

Tory was moaning in Gaius Baltar's ear, the sound echoing Sharon's cries when they were making love, the alignment perfect in both pitch and tone. The female bridged the gap between Cylon and human, the passion for creation the divine spark that blurred the distinction between man and machine.

But Tory Foster was weeping.

"What's wrong," Gaius asked with genuine concern. "Am I hurting you?"

"No … no … nothing's wrong."

The President and his Chief of Staff were in the bedroom of her new apartment, eight floors above the river. The unit should have gone to one of the families from the _Adriatic_, but Gaius had pulled strings to arrange for Rebecca and Billy Keikeya to receive one of the top floor flats, and Tory Foster another.

"Please, Tory; you're crying. Something must be wrong."

"No … it's just … it's just something I do during sex." Tory ran her fingers along Gaius' cheek, wanting to comfort him. In bed, Baltar had taken her completely by surprise; he was a remarkably caring and considerate lover. What had started out, therefore, as cold and calculated manipulation on her part had rapidly morphed into an emotionally complex relationship, and she no longer had any sense that she was in control—not of Gaius, and most certainly not of herself.

"What? It hasn't happened before; I would have noticed."

"Not every time," Tory agreed. "It's a kind of melancholia. Hard as it is to believe, it only happens when I'm genuinely happy. I'm really sorry."

"Don't be. Don't apologize. Tory, you should be thankful. God's blessed you with an abundance of feeling, and this is how it reveals itself."

"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose. Most of the time, I just feel like an idiot."

Tory eased Gaius' head down so that she could kiss him—a kiss that she wanted to linger.

"But you're so understanding," she said gratefully. "You make me feel safe, and wanted."

"I never sensed this vulnerability in you. It's a side of your personality that makes you more attractive because it makes you more human." Baltar kissed her again, this time using his tongue. Tory possessed hidden depths, and he was determined to explore them all.

"More like Sharon, you mean?"

"In a way," he responded thoughtfully. "Initially, I saw her vulnerabilities—all of them. She was so insecure, so eager to please … but when she had to choose between the Cavils and us, she barely hesitated. Then she poured all of her passion and idealism into the campaign … I wouldn't have won without her. Now, her only thought is for the babies. When it comes to making decisions, she has one standard against which she measures everything: will it make the world a better place for our children? Romulus and Remus will never be neglected, never be starved for affection. Sharon's going to make a wonderful mother, and by extension she's going to make life better for every child on this planet."

"So, what are we doing here, Gaius? Am I just a passing fancy … a momentary presidential fling?"

"No," the President laughed. His hips began to piston, seeking a rhythm that would bring them both once more to the heights. "I care for you, Tory … and I need you in so many ways. You keep me grounded in a way that Sharon can't … you keep me from letting it all go to my head. I need your strength and your common sense—and your self-discipline, which is an area where I'm an abysmal failure. I don't seem to have the ability to say 'no' to anyone. I need you to do it for me."

"So I get to play bad cop opposite Sharon's good cop? Gee, thanks."

"Well, the job does come with certain perks," Baltar whispered as he nibbled on her ear. "Where do you keep your handcuffs," he playfully inquired. . . .

Twelve days later, when it became painfully apparent that despite all her precautions she had missed her period for the most obvious of reasons, Tory Foster calculated that this was the night on which she had become pregnant with Gaius Baltar's child. Roslin had outlawed abortion, but a determined woman could always find a way around such edicts. To her own infinite surprise, however, Tory discovered that she wanted to keep the child. There was a place deep inside her- a place that she had never previously sensed- that cried out for children. _My maternal instinct,_ Tory mockingly conceded. _I guess it just goes to show that I'm human after all._

. . .

Captain Doyle Franks took her seat, folded her hands, and rested them lightly on the dais. She took a deep breath, and when she looked up, it was to address the courtroom, which was filled with spectators and reporters.

"Before I read the verdict, I would like to make one thing clear. Like everything human, our system of justice is imperfect. It's flawed. But perfection is the province of the gods, not the province of man. We strive for improvement, knowing that we will always fall short of the mark. And yet it may well be that our failings are the one thing that make us a species worth saving, for humility, compassion, tolerance and understanding … so many of our virtues stem from our shortcomings as a people."

"The defendants will rise."

Still tightly shackled, the seven Sixes struggled to their feet.

"After carefully weighing the evidence, on a vote of four to one, this tribunal finds you guilty of crimes against humanity …"

The hushed audience erupted, drowning out the rest of the Captain's remarks in a sea of cheers and clapping.

"_Order,"_ Franks shouted as she repeatedly banged her gavel. _"I will have order in this court!" _She waited for the roar to subside before pressing on.

"Justice in this case demands punishment, but justice is not and cannot be blind. Here we have been asked to decide not merely the question of guilt or innocence but also the degree of guilt, and to fix an appropriate punishment. Without exception, the members of this panel find the question of the defendant's moral competence to stand trial especially troubling, but we also recognize that the law at present speaks only to the issue of a defendant's _mental_ competence. We accordingly urge the Quorum to enact legislation repairing this deficiency so that future tribunals may be guided in their deliberations by coherent principles of law rather than the dictates of individual conscience."

"This court orders the defendants to be remanded to a place of imprisonment on the surface of New Caprica, the said location to fall within the jurisdiction of the Chief of Police. The defendants will each serve a minimum term of two years, during which they will individually and severally perform five thousand hours of community service at the rate of fifty hours per week. The Chief of Police will decide upon the terms of labor, and make report thereof to the President's office on a weekly basis. In addition, the defendants will be required to undergo one hundred hours of individual and group counseling under the direction of Dr. Amelie Fordyce, who will render a report of her findings to the President's office one month before the period of sentencing concludes. Upon the recommendation of Dr. Fordyce, at the conclusion of their term of imprisonment the defendants shall either be released into the general community without a term of probation, or be permanently boxed. So say we all."

Doyle Franks rose to her feet, and banged her gavel one last time. "This honorable court stands adjourned _sine die_."

_Now,_ Romo Lampkin thought, _comes the hard part. How is Amelie supposed to educate women who are the moral equivalent of toddlers in the basics of right and wrong? What's she supposed to do when they fail the lesson plan … spank them, and send them to bed without their supper?_

Joseph Adama had long ago seared a number of fundamental truths into young Romo Lampkin's brain, and of these the notion that law and justice rarely converged was one of the most important. Still, he could not recall a case in which the chasm separating them had yawned quite as wide as in this rather shabby piece of staged melodrama. The verdict had forced his hand: he would continue to represent his clients, and to protect their interests. Amelie Fordyce didn't know it yet, but Romo Lampkin was about to come calling. 


	4. Chapter 4: Oracle

CHAPTER 4

ORACLE

"S4/B5 … U3/114 … H1/N2," Kara mumbled as she studied the crudely inscribed pillar. "I guess this is the place."

Kara was hunched over, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. The wind was howling, it was bitterly cold, and the fine grains of sand being whipped through the air were painfully scouring her cheeks.

"Gods, how I hate this planet," she cursed.

"Be it ever so humble …"

"Put a sock in it, superspy." Kara cast an irritated look in her older brother's direction. The First Born had had the good sense to dig out a wide-brimmed Picon Panthers pyramid cap before making the journey down to the surface. He was keeping his head down, but Kara knew that it wasn't because of the crappy weather. John had managed to free Gina Inviere from the _Pegasus_ brig, and he had rigged some nasty and ultimately fatal booby traps in Helena Cain's quarters, only to be badly wounded in a savage firefight with two of the marine units that had tried to block their escape. Shattered eardrums had left him permanently crippled, and partially deaf. Kara was always careful to keep to John's left—his good side.

She took him by the elbow, and gently steered him towards the entrance to the unremarkable tent that lay just beyond the marker. It was flanked by a pair of stone columns, and even from a distance she could make out the twin inscriptions that greeted every visitor to the Pythian oracle:

_Know thyself_

_Nothing in excess_

Kara lifted the flap, but she paused in the entrance. John was a monotheist, and a member in good standing of the Church of the Monad on Gemenon, but his beliefs were lukewarm at best. He was instead utterly devoted to Lacy Rand, the mentor whose teaching had done so much to prepare him to undertake the seemingly impossible task of bridging the gap between man and machine. In contrast, Kara far more devoutly believed in the Lords of Kobol. She acknowledged the entire pantheon, but looked to Artemis above all for inspiration. But this ground was sacred to Apollo, and she could feel the power of his presence humming in the air.

"Don't be afraid," a voice whispered from the shadows. "I know who you are … what you are."

John approached the oracle, the light cast by the flickering candles so dim that he could barely discern her presence. It was only when he drew near that he could make her out—a woman of indeterminate years, her angular features partially concealed by the blue turban that draped almost to her waist.

"Poor things; the two of you must be terrified." Dodona Selloi's voice was a metronome, perfectly attuned to the rhythm of the wind chimes tinkling in the background.

Together, Kara and John knelt before her, and they watched silently as the priestess poured chamalla into her palm. Her eyes never leaving them, she lapped up the powerful hallucinogenic with her tongue.

"Do you have any candy? Chamalla's so bitter."

Smiling, John reached into his pocket, and produced two candy bars. "Chocolate and caramel," he said with a certain degree of pride. The spook had done his homework, and he knew that all the oracles craved sweets. Dodona Selloi was said to be particularly fond of chocolate and caramel, and John had raided Natalie's seemingly inexhaustible treasure chest to secure his prizes.

"Zeus sees all, child of Three." The oracle bit into the bar, savoring the sugar's ability to mask the bitterness of the drug. "He sees you. He sees your pain, and your destiny. All the gods weep for you."

"There is no all-knowing Zeus," Bierns gently protested. "There is only the One True God."

"The child of Six would disagree. She prays to the virgin goddess for wisdom, and the alabaster maiden has never failed her. But you are both lost now, and that is why you are here. You seek the true path."

John and Kara exchanged troubled looks. Seeking out the oracles had been his idea, but he was running on instinct, and he was not at all certain of his terrain. His proposal had outraged his many aunts and uncles, several of whom had openly accused him of blasphemy.

"Your mother has awakened from her long and dreamless slumber—and with her the first of your many loves. But there will be no joy at the reuniting. You will be offered an impossible choice—and one that is impossible to avoid. Your chosen path will be clear, but you will refuse to follow it."

Bierns swallowed hard to clear the bile from his throat. The Ones had boxed both Mara and his mother, and long months had passed since the violent confrontation at which one of the Cavils had threatened to download them. There had been nothing subtle about the threat, and the First Born had been steeling himself against this eventuality ever since.

"The Guide carries within her the knowledge that all men seek, but does not possess the key that alone unlocks the secret. It is through Hera's doorway that you must pass, for she alone possesses the notes that lead to Mount Olympus."

The oracle shook out still more of the chamalla, licked it off her palm, and washed it down with another generous bite from the candy bar.

"We have a proposal for you," Kara ventured.

"I accept," the priestess instantly replied. "And I require no apology" she pointedly added as she stared at John Bierns.

The First Born blinked in surprise. He had been about to apologize to Dodona Selloi for all the pain that he had inadvertently caused her when he had telepathically broadcast his nightmare vision of a universe drowning in blood to every oracle in the fleet.

_The woman either reads minds or she reads body language,_ Bierns decided. _Either way, this is one hell of an impressive performance!_

"But we haven't even told you what we have in mind," Kara objected. The priestess had taken her equally by surprise.

"You wish Yolanda Brenn to board one of the cylon ships, and there to commune with its hybrid. You would ask the same of me, but fear that your request will provoke a quarrel with your parents. Child of Three, it is well that you respect your elders, and oft should you heed their voice. Love will be your undoing, unless you cast your nets far from shore. Still, this is the path that you must follow. We accept."

. . .

The Heavy Raider slid deep into the landing bay, and Cavil began systematically shutting down its flight systems. When he was done, he swiveled around to face his two prisoners. Chasing down the Hub had taken far longer than he had anticipated, and he was in a distinctly sour mood. He started fiddling with the controller, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the two Cylons stiffen. Their reaction brought a smile to his lips, but at the last moment he decided to put off torturing them until he had Mara Andreotis safely locked in a collar of her own. _It's better to keep them off balance, _he reasoned._ How does the human expression go? Oh, yes … 'the suspense is killing me'. Well, we won't go quite that far, but we might come awfully frakkin' close!_

"Make yourselves comfortable, sisters," he mocked; "because we're gonna be here for a while. If you get hungry or want something to drink, just ask the centurions. But there won't be any bathroom breaks, so don't overdo it."

"What about the Eight," Aspasia sneered. "Are you going to feed and water her as well, or are we all keeping you from your next, bold adventure?"

"Now, now, Six; do mind your manners." Cavil reached out gently to pat the top of the Eight's head. "And a little sympathy would not be out of order. This poor Eight has led a very traumatic existence. She threw herself at a handsome, young Colonial officer, but he scorned her every advance. She was murdered by an outraged Five who wanted the officer in question for himself. We had to box the Five, or he would have kept on killing her until he ran out of bullets. Our sister's sense of self-esteem had plummeted to the point where this … this … was an act of kindness. Now, she has purpose … a concrete goal that it is well within her ability to achieve."

Cavil stroked the Eight's cheek, eliciting a low moan in response. She leaned into his touch, but in the shattered fragments of her mind the image of Louis Hoshi still lingered. A vague ache … a longing for something just out of reach … disturbed the quiet that now shrouded her soul. Her eyes remained fixed, staring into a space that didn't quite exist … but a lone tear trickled down her right cheek.

Cavil captured it with his index finger, and brushed the salty tear against his lips. "Don't be deceived by appearances, Six. My pet is extraordinarily talented. Her knowledge of the erotic arts now exceeds that of both your models combined. Would you like a demonstration? You need only ask. I guarantee you that she will perform to your satisfaction."

"Brother, you disgust me." D'Anna's loathing for the Ones had finally found a convenient target. "You murdered our brothers, murdered our parents—and now you're lobotomizing your sisters. What happened to you? How could you sink to such … depravity?"

"Well, somebody has to clean up our parents' mess, and I'm just the machine to do it. The Sevens," Cavil snorted; "what a pathetic, absolutely useless waste of time and effort. _Artists,_" he scoffed; _"poets … composers!_ And the Twos … the whole lot of them stumble around with their heads in the clouds and their feet on the shore while they swim in the stream, whatever the frak that means. And as for the Threes … sister, you've already reminded me of exactly why I loathe that non-existent god of yours. How many times have I had to listen to all that drivel about God's will? _God made me do it,"_ he minced.

"God will punish you for your blasphemy," D'Anna said in a voice that rang with conviction. "My child will destroy you, and all who serve you. _God's will be done!_"

"Didn't anyone tell you," Cavil asked with feigned astonishment. "God's flown the coop, but he left a note just for you, D'Anna. Do you know what it says? _Do you know? _It says … OUT TO LUNCH!"

The One suddenly lashed out and grabbed her by the hair. He yanked her head back and spat into her face, his coal black eyes burning like glowing embers. "I'm going to be a while," he taunted, "but I'll be back—and when I return we'll pick up this conversation where we left off. In the meantime … in the meantime, I'm really going to enjoy poisoning the husks of all the Twos and Threes. Your models were mistakes, D'Anna—but I'm a mechanic, and what do mechanics do? They fix mistakes. Ah, but not you, D'Anna … I'm going to frak you, not for my own personal enjoyment but to satisfy my scientific curiosity. Truth be told, I have absolutely no idea how my little pet will react when she catches your scent, but I'm eager to find out."

D'Anna shuddered with revulsion, the memories of rape and degradation still fresh in her mind. Cavil smiled triumphantly, and left without another word.

The Three and the Six, their lives forever linked by the children to whom they had given birth, silently exchanged helpless looks. But D'Anna Biers refused to give in to her despair. On the Colony, she had once waged a long and lonely battle to forge her unborn child into a weapon capable of defeating the Ones and their monstrous ambitions. Now, she would prove herself worthy of her son.

"Eight," she whispered gently to the horribly abused creature crouching opposite her. "Sharon, can you hear me? Can you understand me? Please, say something."

"_Louis,"_ Sharon moaned, her eyes blinking rapidly. The shards of broken memory lanced her mind, and pain born of regrets that she could no longer fully comprehend caused silent tears to fall untouched to the waiting deck.

. . .

"So, gentlemen, what are we dealing with here?"

"Mr. President, are you familiar with Mellorak sickness?" Mike Robert was dressed in scrubs; he had come straight to _Colonial One _from the tent that the civilian doctors were using for surgical procedures. He had the air of a man who was being overworked to the point of exhaustion.

"Vaguely," Gaius admitted.

"It's a nasty bit of business," Doc Cottle interjected. "The elderly are particularly vulnerable because it homes in on the respiratory system. If you don't catch it within the first 48 hours, it's already too late."

"I lost a patient this morning," Dr. Robert added. "Duncan Calloney was 71. Technically, the cause of death was pneumonia, but it was brought on by Mellorak. He was Sagittaron, so I prescribed bittamucin in tablet form … told him that it was a natural substance that wouldn't violate his religious beliefs. The autopsy will determine whether he was actually taking the drug."

"So, it's curable?"

"Absolutely, Admiral; just one shot of bittamucin generally does the trick. And there are quite a large number of sedatives that we can use to alleviate the symptoms."

"Most patients are right as rain in a day or two," Cottle agreed.

"Doctor, why didn't you inoculate Mr. Calloney?" Sharon couldn't follow the civilian physician's reasoning. "Why did you give him tablets?"

"Frankly, Mrs. Baltar, I didn't want to press my luck," Dr. Robert confessed. "Hypodermic needles aren't referenced in the scriptures, and most Sagittarons will refuse any medical treatment that isn't blessed by the gods."

"For the last three thousand years," Cottle explained, "medicine's been the great curse. There's a reason why life expectancy on Sagittaron was significantly lower than anywhere else in the Colonies."

"Sharon," her husband said with a mischievous grin, "your father put it well. One night, when we were playing Triad with some of the pilots, Colonel Tigh called the Sagittarons 'a bunch of stubborn, root-sucking jackasses holding onto traditions a thousand years old'. Most of our people would agree with him."

"What about the Cylons," Adama pressed. "Are they in any danger?"

"So far, the outbreak has been confined to the Sagittarons," Dr. Robert replied. "We've diagnosed fifty-one cases to date. The youngest patient I've treated is 44, but most have been men in their sixties. Some of these people are going to die because they refuse treatment altogether or they've delayed coming in to see us until it's too late."

"How's our stock of bittamucin holding out?"

"Bill, that's our biggest worry," Cottle was quick to concede. "It's limited, so we should probably conserve it and only inoculate after the first symptoms show."

"I want our pilots and deck crews immunized before they get sick," Adama ordered; "and you had better talk to Colonel Phillips as well. We can't afford to lose the skills that his people bring to the table."

"I agree, Admiral … and I also agree that we need to keep a close eye on the Cylons." Baltar looked around the gathering, and it belatedly dawned on him that with the sole exception of Mike Robert everyone in the room was either cylon or married to a Cylon. "Keeping in mind what Mr. Anders has told us about the cylon immune system, there is no way to predict how this or any other disease would affect them, and we can't take a chance on something like this reaching the resurrection ships. We have to get on top of this, and stay on top. Are we agreed?"

"I'll talk to my sisters," Sharon said, "but I'll leave it to Caprica to spread the word among the Sixes. Dr. Cottle, it would be helpful if your wife dealt with the Twos and Threes. They all hold her in very high regard."

"D'Anna will be glad to help," Cottle replied, "although I doubt that it's really necessary. The Twos and Threes have become so deeply embedded in the monotheist community that they've absorbed the Gemenese prejudice against Sagittarons."

"We can use that to our advantage," Dr. Robert observed. "The Sagittarons and the Gemenese pretty much keep to themselves anyway, but in this instance I think that we should encourage them to do so. Mellorak is spread by human contact, so if we can keep it contained within the Sagittaron population, we can prevent this from turning into a pandemic. Since there's not nearly enough bittamucin to go around, we have to limit exposure. All things considered, therefore, I recommend that we physically isolate the Sagittarons. Get them settled, and start an educational campaign that stresses proper hygiene. Frankly, it would help if they would simply shower more frequently, and treat sores and open wounds with topical disinfectants. I don't want anyone, however, to mention the word 'antibiotic' in their presence. The 'root-sucking jackasses' won't go near it."

"A Sagittaron ghetto," the President said with a resigned sigh. "I don't like the idea of promoting tribalism, but at the moment we seem to be caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Fine … okay … I'll tell Colonel Phillips to build a block of apartments in the southeast quadrant ASAP. We'll keep the Sagittarons downstream, and as far away from the river as we can. Is there anything else?"

Sharon Baltar turned to look at John Bierns. Their child hadn't spoken a word during the entire meeting, but she presumed that he shared Adama's concern for his pregnant cylon wife.

"John," she asked curiously, "you have remained silent throughout. Is there anything that you want to contribute to this discussion?"

"Not really," the spook answered distractedly. He shifted his attention to Mike Robert. "Can you supply me with samples of this disease? Blood … saliva … semen—anything will do so long as the virus is live. I'll also need several doses of bittamucin," he added as an afterthought.

"Major, do you have any idea what you're doing," Cottle quietly asked. The two men had privately discussed this very issue a couple of hours earlier; Sherman had readily answered the CSS agent's questions, but he had flatly refused to supply him with samples of the virus. Cottle had a pretty good idea what Bierns was planning, and it violated every principle enshrined in the Physician's Oath. "With all due respect, amateurs shouldn't be playing around with deadly viruses."

"I'll take the necessary precautions," Ghostrider promised. _The Heavy Raider will be well beyond the reach of the resurrection ships, _he thought; _and it's not like we don't have plenty of Ones and Fives to go around._

. . .

"You look so tired," Apollo noted sympathetically. It was late afternoon, and the fading light only seemed to accentuate his wife's fatigue. They were standing in the kitchen of their new apartment, a second floor unit that faced the river and overlooked New Caprica City's only public park. Water jetted into the sky from the large fountain at its center, the fountain itself an exact copy of the one that had dominated Caprica City's famed Riverwalk.

"You have two choices," he added. "You can sit down, or fall down." Apollo continued to knead the muscles and tendons at the base of Creusa's neck, but they were so tight that he suspected he'd have better luck massaging a steel bar.

"Mmm … that feels good," Creusa murmured. Her eyes were closed, and she had tilted her head towards the ceiling. "I feel so useless," she confessed. "Something as simple as making tea now seems beyond my reach."

"Is our little beach ball giving you a hard time," Lee asked affectionately. "She never seems to stop squirming anymore."

"Cyrene's fine." Creusa's hands drifted to rest on her bulging abdomen. "She would be happier if Callista was nearby … but she's fine."

"Do you want me to call Shelly and invite her to come down? She'd love to see you, and the two of you could commiserate with each other."

"Have you forgotten that we're on our honeymoon, Lee? I may have to share you with the President, but that's the limit of my patience."

"It's just that you seem … well … you seem depressed. I've never seen you like this, not even when you were wounded in that firefight with Cavil's centurions. I'm worried about you, but I can't help if you won't let me in."

"Kara stopped by while you were on _Colonial One_," Creusa reluctantly replied. "We were talking about everything that's happened, and …"

"Go on," Apollo encouraged.

Creusa turned awkwardly around to stare into her husband's eyes. "Is it true, Lee? What she told me about the battle when you were escaping from Ragnar … is it true?"

"I don't understand. Is what true?"

"That your Viper was badly damaged, and that you would have been killed or captured if she hadn't pulled one of those crazy stunts of hers."

"Yeah … yeah … that's true enough," Lee acknowledged.

"If you had been captured …"

Tears began to well up in Creusa's eyes.

"You would have been tortured," she haltingly finished. _"You would have been tortured to death!"_

"Creusa …"

"_No! Let me finish!"_ Her voice was agonized. "They would have handed you over to a Six for the interrogation. They might have even brought me up from Scorpia—on the first day, everybody found out that blood and gore don't bother me. Lee, you're the father of my child, but in a different circumstance … _in a different circumstance I would have tortured you without hesitation or remorse_!"

"Maybe," Lee conceded. "Or maybe the connection that we've always shared would have been just as powerful then as it is now."

"It wouldn't have mattered," Creusa sobbed. "If I had faltered, the Cavils would have just sent another one of my sisters in to take my place. In the end, it wouldn't have mattered, and Cyrene …"

"Sweetheart, where is this coming from?" Lee clasped Creusa's hands, and stared into the depths of her suddenly haunted eyes. "Why are you punishing yourself this way?"

"Would you have tortured me, Lee? If the situation had been reversed and you were convinced that I possessed information that would help you to survive, could you have done it?"

"No," Lee said emphatically. "Even in a war, there have to be limits, and torturing prisoners is way beyond the line. I'm no Helena Cain, and neither is my father."

"Sixes can be cruel, and I'm not going to pretend that I'm all that different from my sisters." Creusa effortlessly called to mind all that she had done to the Cavils on the resurrection ship. "Does this make me a bad person? Am I even fit to be a mother?"

"Hey, now you're infringing on my turf," Apollo laughed. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around his wife's waist. "Adama men don't exactly have a great track record when it comes to raising kids, so I expect to screw up … probably about a hundred times a day. But you'll do great … just wait and see … you're going to be a fantastic mom."

"Our poor daughter …"

"Hey, stop this! Stop it right now! My mom … she loved us, but she also resented us, and it's easy to see why. We were a constant reminder of a husband and father who was never there. Two weeks a year, Creusa; all those years, and my dad … he was never home for more than two weeks a year. Mom was lonely, but she was trapped; in the end, the bottle was her only way out, but she couldn't control her anger …"

"I did what I could to protect Zak," Lee whispered, his mind reaching back across the years, painful memories of the seemingly endless days and nights of abuse rushing all too easily to the surface.

"_We are not my parents,"_ he fiercely added. "You don't resent our daughter, and I promise you this: I will _never_ put my career ahead of my family—it … will … not … happen."

"But you know what?" Apollo laughed again, but this time it was a hollow, bitter sound. "I don't even know what I'm talking about because I've never had a career! The uniform? The only reason I joined the military … _the only reason_ … was to make 'the Old Man' proud of his son. _'A man isn't a man until he wears the wings of a Viper pilot'._ Gods, if I heard that line once, I must have heard it a thousand times! And I got sick of it. I was going to quit, Creusa; I was going to leave the service … move on … do something else with my life. If you had hit us six months later, the odds are pretty good that I would have died along with everybody else."

"Oh, Lee …"

"I love you, Creusa, and as much as it scares me, I can't wait to be a dad. We'll make mistakes; of course we'll make mistakes … everybody does … but we'll learn. We'll get better as we go along, and it'll turn out okay because we're a family.

"We're a family," he repeated as he lovingly ran his fingers through his wife's long, blond hair. He was secretly pleased that it had lost none of its silken texture; indeed, for all of her complaints about back aches and leg cramps, Lee judged Creusa's pregnancy to have gone remarkably well. True, her breasts were now noticeably heavier, but her arms and legs were still as slender and graceful as ever, and she was currently wearing the same shoes that she had favored seven months earlier—the very shoes, in fact, that she had left in sick bay on the morning Doc Cottle broke the news. _The morning, _Lee reminded himself, _when I turned into the crown prince of idiots … the morning Creusa rushed back to the baseship in tears because she thought that I didn't want the baby._

Lee leaned forward, and kissed his cylon wife full on the lips. He could say so much without words, which always seemed to fail him.

"Do you want to," she shyly asked. Creusa feared that her advancing pregnancy had robbed her of her beauty, and her erotic appeal. She feared even more the day when Apollo would finally prove unwilling to satisfy her.

"You are so incredibly beautiful," he whispered; "and I want to … in every room … on every piece of furniture. Where shall we begin?"

"The dining room table," she suggested. "It's hard enough to give my back some relief."

"The dining room table it is," Lee responded. He took her by the hand, and gently led the way.

. . .

"_The E.M.C. electrical conduit on decks 15 and 16 is loose. Shut down power to grid five. End of line. The oracle swims outside the stream, seeking truth in misted pools and bitter roots. Solar flares have increased luminosity by 3.75%. The carbon scoring on the FTL sync coils stands uncorrected. Replace filters in the carbon scrubbers on deck 42 at junction AD3C. End of line. A tool is deadly without the proper insulation. The maker likes the Eight's hair just the way it is. This coffee break is sponsored by Dex's Diner, which is temporarily located at S1/B2—the third tent on the right. Riverside ambience … steaks, chops, and ribs grilled to your satisfaction … for the best in New Caprica City dining, visit Dex's today …"_

Melpomene Meacham shrieked with laughter. She was flanked by Pyrrha and by little Julia Ferrin, who had become Melpomene's constant shadow. At age two and a half, Julia was by far the youngest child on the ship, but she had already revealed a talent for finding hidey-holes that had escaped the older children's notice. Natalie had asked one of the centurions to keep an eye on the perpetually curious toddler, who from the outset had accepted the presence of her metallic babysitter without question. The cylon commander didn't need to look up; she knew that "Tommy" had his sensors fixed on Julia, just as "Henry" monitored Melpomene's every movement. The relationship between man and machine had undergone a seismic shift on the day that Melpomene had thrown herself in front of a gun to keep her centurion safe. The children had grown fiercely loyal to their protectors, and where they led, most of the humans had gradually begun to follow.

The three wide-eyed little girls were on their hands and knees, leaning far out over the edge of the hybrid's tank. Natalie and the other adoptive cylon mothers no longer worried about the children falling into the gelatinous goop that filled the vat. It had happened more than once, but Reun never allowed them to slip far beneath the surface. The ongoing love affair between the hybrid and her human charges was mutual and intense.

"_Mommy", _Pyrrha yelled over her shoulder,_ "I like ribs! Can we go? Can we, mommy?"_

Natalie Faust smiled affectionately at the five year old girl to whom she had become so utterly devoted. The solemn child whom she had helped to rescue from slavery almost six months earlier had vanished, to be replaced by the whirlwind kneeling at her feet.

"I don't see why not … but first, you have to do your ABG's," she cautioned.

"Can Henry and I come too, Aunt Natalie?" Melpomene had twisted around to stare up at the Six with a hopeful expression.

"You can all come, Melpomene; we'll have a party. But first, isn't there something that you want to do for Aunt Reun?"

"Uh huh. _Hen … ry!_" Melpomene climbed to her feet, and turned fully to face the centurion with whom she had shared so many adventures in the fleet. _"Do you have it," _she signed.

"_I gave it to our brother,"_ the machine signed in return. Henry turned his head and nodded in the direction of John Bierns, who was standing alongside Dodona Selloi.

Standing unobtrusively to the side, Leoben could taste the current of affection that flowed between the two hybrids. Few things gave him such a deep sense of personal satisfaction as the steady maturing of Reun's personality; in this chamber, the First Born and the human children had unwittingly combined to work their magic as they had everywhere else on the immense ship.

John reached into his pocket, and pulled out two more of the candy bars that he had liberated from Natalie's personal treasure chest. "Caramel coated in chocolate," he whispered to the little girl when she ran up to him. "They're really good. Give one to my sister, and share the other with Pyrrha."

"What about Julia," Melpomene whispered in return.

"I have a special treat for her. The two of us are going to try a cookie."

While John scooped up the toddler and fished out a chocolate chip cookie freshly baked that morning, Melpomene dashed back to the tank, tore off the wrapper, and held the candy bar out for the expectant hybrid's inspection.

"_Look, Aunt Reun! Caramel and chocolate! Uncle John says it's really good!"_

The hybrid accepted the sweet, and took a small bite while Melpomene hastily discarded the second wrapper and used her fingers to saw the wafer more or less in half. The two girls began to chew contentedly, while Julia quietly nibbled on the edge of her own treat.

"Peace in our time," a relieved Six standing on the opposite side of the tank wryly commented. But she knew that the respite was only temporary. The harried Sixes and Eights had established a day care center less than a hundred meters down the corridor from Reun's chamber, but the children were far too energetic to stay confined in any one place for very long. They had the run of the ship, and the Cylons had had to form cooperatives just to keep pace.

Natalie could only shake her head in amused agreement. Since the children had unmasked the hybrid's addiction to sweets, the gathering in Reun's chamber had become one of their daily rituals. Major Cottle continued to grumble about diabetes and the onset of high blood pressure, but the collective had decided to ignore him. Besides, trying to anticipate Melpomene's next move had now become one of the ship's favorite pastimes. The child was infinitely resourceful, and her playmates could always be counted on to follow her lead. _How like her,_ Natalie considered, _to have John smuggle the candy in for her._

When they were finished, Melpomene once more climbed to her feet, and the mood in the chamber was instantly transformed. A hush fell over the gathered Cylons, for this was a routine that never varied. Melpomene walked around to the other side of the tank, and looked up at the Six who was her minder of the moment.

"May I be excused," she said with great solemnity.

"Of course, sweetheart," the still nameless Six responded.

"I love you, Aunt Reun." And with that Melpomene was gone, her destination a distant corridor near the Control Room. After favoring John with a swift and disapproving glance, Natalie took Pyrrha by the hand and trailed after her. She had strongly opposed bringing the human oracle on board, arguing that it was dangerous to expose the hybrid to a woman who obviously had the gift of sight, but she had been outvoted. The Twos and Threes just as adamantly favored the joining. They wanted to explore the connection between the two very different seers in the hope that each would inspire the other, and that God's plan for them all would thereby come more sharply into focus. The more practical Eights had also refused to follow Natalie's lead. They wanted every tactical advantage over the Ones that they could get, and the possibilities that flowed from networking the fleet's oracles with their first born and his hybrid sisters intrigued them no end. . . .

Kara Thrace had started the Wall of Remembrance with but a single photograph, but it had grown over time, and Melpomene Meacham had made it peculiarly her own. She came every day to this place, and all but the very youngest of the children faithfully attended her. Kara often came as well, to pay her respects to Thalia, but at these gatherings she wisely chose to remain silent, yielding to the seven year old child who in some mysterious way had become the very heart and soul of the giant baseship.

Dozens of humans and Cylons were already waiting, but they moved aside so that the child might easily pass. Melpomene walked up to the wall and placed her hands upon the photographs of her father and his beloved Six, the adoptive mother for whom she ached in her heart, the two of them murdered long months before in a stateroom on _Cloud Nine_.

Melpomene bowed her head, and closed her eyes.

"Heavenly Father, hear my prayer. "

All around her, the gathering lowered their heads. On the baseships, the cylon faith was attracting new converts every week. Melpomene's flock was growing steadily.

"Please look after mommy and daddy … and grandma and grandpa." Melpomene had no memory of her mother, who had succumbed to cancer on the night of her birth, but she had strong memories of her maternal grandparents. They had always been there, making sure that the father and child were never truly alone.

"And watch over the souls of all the people who couldn't come with us, especially the babies and the little children."

The words pierced the spirits of the assembled Cylons like a dagger. This was the place of their atonement. They came here every day, to mourn their own and to do penance for their sins. They had finally run the calculations. Only when it was far too late had they come to the realization that their bombs had killed tens of millions of unborn children, and hundreds of millions of the newly born. They had dispensed death so casually, so certain were they that God desired the humans to be punished for their corruption and their sin. The shame of it still threatened to crush them.

"And keep Aunt Six safe, and lead me to her. Let me find her, Lord, because she's my mommy, and I love her so-o-o much! I try to be good, Lord … every day, I try to be good so that mommy will be proud of me and love me, too. And please, help Aunt Natalie and Aunt Reun; they work so hard and when I grow up, I want to be just like them. And don't let anyone hurt Henry. He's my best friend, and I know that you gave him a soul, too. Uncle Leoben must be right: you gave souls to everybody, Lord, and that's why we all love you. Amen."

A chorus of 'amens' echoed softly up and down the corridor. The gathering broke up, but many of the Cylons and humans lingered, to say their own individual prayers for the people they loved.

. . .

The tent flap was violently thrust aside, and Shevon gasped in surprise. She was entertaining a repeat customer, and the very last thing that she expected was to be interrupted at work.

Three shadows emerged from the looming darkness. She couldn't make out their features in the dim light, but she knew that they would be young, tall, and well-muscled. They always were.

"Hey, Shevon," an anonymous voice called out. "I was about to ask how's tricks, but I can see that you're keeping busy."

"What the frak," the john yelled.

"Sorry about the interruption, mister. Now, you go back to having a good time. We want to make sure that you get your money's worth."

"Hey, get the frak outta here!"

The thug pointed his gun at the man's head, and racked a round. "Not gonna happen, mister, but we do value customer satisfaction, so just pretend that we're not here. Besides," he laughed, "you might teach us a new trick or two. Who knows? Anything's possible."

The client's libido had already been punctured, but he was retired military and he knew better than to argue with a loaded gun. He turned back to Shevon, and concentrated on convincingly faking a thunderous climax.

"He's all elbows and knees," one of the other gangsters commented. "He's got no finesse at all."

"He's only paying the base rate," the leader chuckled. "Shevon's sliding scale, aren't you sweetheart? You want more, you gotta pony up."

Shevon's eyes narrowed, but she remained silent. Now she had a name to go with the voice, but she didn't want to jeopardize her customer. She'd wait.

"You paid her yet?"

"No," the client grunted.

"What's she charging you?"

"Fifty cubits."

"_Fifty cubits! _Shevon … Shevon … you've really come down in the world. You used to get a hundred, no questions asked."

"Depreciation," one of his friends snidely remarked. "She's a lot older now, and I'll bet she's not near as tight as she used to be."

"What do you think, mister? Is the equipment a little worn and torn?"

"Shevon's fine," he answered vaguely, not at all sure what the unseen faces behind him wanted to hear. "She's great."

"Glad to hear it. You gonna leave her a tip?"

"Ten cubits … I always give her an extra ten."

"Ah … you're a man after my own heart. Tell you what …"

He poked around in the mound of clothing that the customer had neatly stacked on a stool at the foot of the bed. When he found the man's wallet, he pulled it out and removed a pair of well-used twenty cubit notes.

"Starting tonight, Shevon here is under new management. So, for the balance of the evening, everyone's gonna get a discount. Forty cubits, mister; take the other twenty, and treat yourself to a nice steak dinner over at Dex's. Give yourself a night to remember!"

Once the client had dressed and departed, Shevon threw on a robe, but she didn't bother belting it. She figured the three men would want to inspect the goods.

"What do you want, Enzo," she asked in a resigned voice. She knew exactly what he wanted—in all the years that she had been on the game, it had never varied.

"A piece of the action, sweetheart … just a taste. Let's say … oh … how about forty percent?"

"Forty percent," she scoffed. "I've got a better idea. How about you leave before Six finds out that you've just pissed off one of my best customers. Otherwise, she'll take the three of you out into the woods and nail your balls to a tree with ice picks. How does that grab you, Enzo?"

"Hey, what Six don't know won't hurt her—and you're not gonna tell her shit, you got me? 'Cause if you do, one of my pals will take a straight razor to your daughter's cheeks. Now, that'd be a shame, wouldn't it, Shevon? 'Cause then she won't be good for nothing but blow jobs."

"You frakking son of a bitch …"

"Forty percent, Shevon … and I don't give a frak what you're paying Dino Panattes and the Six for protection. As of this moment, the Sons of Ares _own _you. If you can't hack the juice, then raise your rates or take on some more customers—it's your choice. But either way, we get our forty percent, plus all the usual perks."

"Perks? Yeah, sure … how many freebies am I on the hook for?"

"Nothing you can't handle, sweetheart … two a night at the most, and we'll even bring our own rubbers."

. . .

"Stallion, I'm really sorry that I had to drag you into this mess. A Raptor simply doesn't have the range for this operation, and the Cylons can't become involved. There are way too many imponderables. You're the only human I know who can pilot a Heavy Raider and be trusted never to tell anyone what we're doing out here."

"Major, I've gotta be honest with you. What we're doing isn't just a violation of the Articles of War; it runs counter to every principle I believe in. So, even if it's a lie, tell me that this has to be done … that Aphrodite and the baby don't stand a chance unless we do this."

"It's necessary," Bierns shot back.

"Wiping them out? Yeah … sure … I'm all for wiping the Cavils out, but biological weapons? Major, up until now I've never done anything in this war that I'm ashamed of, but this … if we do this, then we're no better than they are."

The first born hybrid turned, and gazed thoughtfully into the dim recesses of the cylon transport. After they had cleared the nebula, he had instructed Hephaestus Fears to make eight jumps in the general direction of the cylon Earth … eight jumps that would put them well clear of the two resurrection ships orbiting New Caprica.

A half dozen heavily shackled Ones and Fives, their Achilles tendons severed, were bolted to the floor at the opposite end of the ship. Each of them had been exposed to the Mellorak virus roughly ninety-six hours earlier. The spook had injected it directly into the blood stream of two of his test subjects, while swabbing another pair. As a practical matter, however, Bierns was most interested in the results of his third experiment. He had taken a knife to the last of the Ones and Fives, and worked the virus into their open wounds.

"This isn't our only option, Lieutenant." The CSS agent was thinking about the top-secret pulse weapon that was being developed in Gaius Baltar's old lab on the _Galactica_.

"Hopefully, it won't even turn out to be our best." In principle, an EMP weapon was simple enough—the problem was directional control. If they couldn't target the blast, then they couldn't use a baseship as a firing platform because the bomb would consume friend and foe alike.

"I pray to the One God every night," Stallion confessed. The ex-Viper jock was one of the many humans who had formally converted to the cylon faith. "But truth be told, when Artemis and Aphrodite aren't looking, I ask the Lords of Kobol for their blessings as well. Major, I don't ask for much. I just want my son to grow up on a world at peace."

"Your son and my daughter both," John wistfully observed. "And that's why those bastards back there have got to go," he added.

"There's no turning back from this, you know." The spook caught the hint of desperation in the young officer's voice. "Biological weapons … we both know that's the point of no return. We can't let a single one of them survive because no one ever forgives the use of biological weapons. If we miss even one ship …"

"I hear you." Bierns grasped his human friend gently by the shoulder. "Hephaestus, this is strictly a weapon of last resort. I promise you, this is not a step I'll ever take lightly."

John Bierns reached into the knapsack on the floor to his left. He pulled out a syringe.

"Bittamucin," he explained. "Two of the Fives began showing symptoms about four hours ago. "I'll inject one of them now, but we'll give it another twenty-four hours before we inoculate his buddy."

Bierns got up and walked to the rear of the ship.

"Uncle Aaron, you look a little under the weather."

"What did you do to us," the Five asked in his usual, dull monotone. Months earlier, this particular copy of Aaron Doral had blown himself up on _Galactica's _C deck, and a grenade had subsequently gone off at his feet in the Battle of the Resurrection Ship. And now … well … now, he felt like shit. He sensed no affection for the first born of the hybrid children within his finely tuned silica circuits, but he was also machine enough to admit that his half-breed nephew fully reciprocated his absence of feeling. There was no mistaking the malice in John Bierns' voice.

"Get with the program, Five." One of the Cavils looked up at the First Born with undisguised contempt. "It wasn't enough for our beloved child here to side with the meat sacs … oh no … he had to go and give us one of their foul diseases. What's that," he asked as he nodded at the syringe. "The antidote … I'll bet that's the frakking antidote!"

"Bingo," the spook laughed. "Go to the head of the class, John. You got it right first time out!"

"I don't like that name," Cavil hissed.

"I know." Bierns smiled, but raw hatred for the Ones was radiating off of him in waves. "Mother taught me that … among many other things."

"The learning process begins in the womb," he added when he saw the look of blank incomprehension on Cavil's face. "Mama poured herself into me, John. I am truly D'Anna's child."

"What a shame," a second Cavil sneered; "she was weak … pathetic and useless. She used to go on and on about how she was going to carry the word of God to the humans … how she couldn't wait to fall in love and start farting out little meat sacs of her very own. But when I poked her up the ass, she squealed just like a stuck pig!"

"What? What are you talking about?" They could all hear the confusion in Aaron Doral's voice. Another coughing spasm wracked his frame.

"Shut up brother; this doesn't concern you."

Bierns knelt at the Five's side, and injected the bittamucin into the side of his neck. "This will help," he mildly remarked.

"Mother may have had her faults," the First Born politely conceded as he shifted his attention back to the Ones, "but unlike you three geniuses, she never managed to misplace an entire baseship."

The three Cavils scowled, and then the implications of what Bierns had just said hit them.

"Yeah, that's right, _John_; one of your aircraft is missing. It defected right under your nose, and as we speak it's leading another fleet off to the far reaches of the galaxy. But they'd better find a new home soon, because the Sixes and Eights have had so many babies that things are getting a little cramped over there. Even the Threes are getting in on the action."

"You're lying," one of the Cavils shouted. "There's no frakking way!"

"What can I say? Either Ellen's notorious firewalls are overrated, or my aunts have inadvertently stumbled across the answer. Either way, John, you've lost. Cylon and human have come together, and together they're going to fill the galaxy with life!"

. . .

"Welcome home, sisters," Cavil said mockingly as the centurions led the three captives down the ramp. "D'Anna, would you like to lead us all in a prayer of thanksgiving for this happy little family reunion?"

"No, but I'll pray for you, brother. I'll pray hard, because you damn your immortal soul with every blasphemous word that you speak, and with every impious deed that you perform."

"Don't bother, sister; the Ones are beyond redemption." Despite her shackles, Mara Andreotis turned in a slow circle, obviously searching for something in the vastness of the landing bay.

"You got a problem, Six?"

"John, do you remember the last time that we talked—in the foundry? You stuck a knife in my ribs, and then sent me for a swim in a pool of molten metal. I was still alive when I hit the surface. Believe me, that was no fun … no fun at all."

"Ah, the good old days," Cavil said with feigned regret. "I remember them well."

"I'm sure you've refined your technique in the interim. What will it be this time, John? Are you going to have the centurions drop us into a shark tank? Feed us to a school of starving piranha? Like most sadists, brother, you're very creative. You will undoubtedly make our deaths as painful and entertaining as possible."

"Sister, I am disappointed in you … truly disappointed. I don't intend to harm so much as one teeny tiny little hair on top of that bleached blond head of yours. I need you alive and in one piece because the Abomination won't be inclined to barter for damaged goods. But I also need you to be cooperative, and that's Six's job."

Cavil swung around, and gestured for the black clad overseer to step forward. Her eyes were bright with anticipation as they moved back and forth between Aspasia and Mara, taking their measure. The three Sixes were mirror images of one another—but one was a predator, and the other two her prey.

"Fortunately," Cavil continued, "those collars of yours make for excellent training devices. They are guaranteed to produce the desired results, but without all the blood and gore that attend the more primitive methods of behavior modification."

"Enjoy yourself, brother, by all means. But John is CSS; you're deluded if you think that he'll sacrifice himself to save the three of us."

"Mara, hasn't D'Anna brought you up to speed? Rest assured … we have no intention of killing your precious hybrid boyfriend." The Cavil who had transported the three Cylon females to the baseship handed the controller over to the Six. "We just want to remove him from the battlefield. To that end, we've promised your sister here that she can have him as her slave. So, we're going to let her take charge of the three of you. She can, as you have so eloquently put it, use you to refine the techniques that she plans to employ on him. Then, when our paths cross, as invariably they will … why, we'll offer the Abomination a trade—his freedom for your lives."

"John will laugh in your face."

"No, he won't. I don't break promises, Six. My word is my bond, and the Abomination knows it. Plus, the poor fool really loves you. Now, I grant that he might not be willing to die for you, but a straight up exchange—your freedom for his? He'll jump at the chance."

"Speaking of promises," Cavil added as he stared hard at D'Anna. "It's time to carry out that little experiment we were talking about back on the Hub … you know … the one involving the Eight? The centurions will escort you to my chamber … or they can carry you if you feel like kicking up a fuss."

D'Anna sensed that the monster wanted her to resist, and she debated whether or not to play his game. The Ones regarded her with contempt, and it was very much to her advantage not to give them any reason to change their opinion. But eleven very long months in Hell had hardened her. The innocent child who had lost everyone she had ever loved was gone, replaced by a woman who had found a bottomless reservoir of strength deep within her spirit. Her faith had sustained her against the near infinite abuse that the Cavils had heaped upon her in the past, and it would continue to sustain her against the horrors that now awaited her on this ship. She clung to her absolute, unquestioning belief in the One True God, and knowing that her brothers would see her faith as a sign of weakness, decided to parade it.

"I'll walk … and for what you are about to do to this Eight, may God have mercy on your twisted soul."

"You would be better advised," Cavil sneered, "to exhort these Sixes to fall on their knees and beg their sister for mercy … not that she has any. Do you, my dear?"

For answer, the overseer copy turned the knob on the controller to a higher setting before activating it. Mara and Aspasia dropped to their knees, screaming in agony, and D'Anna could see at a glance that their pain had already aroused the Six. In a matter of seconds the machine was reduced to an animal, an animal in heat, and only a centurion's grip prevented the increasingly distraught Eight from pouncing upon her. In that moment, D'Anna Biers glimpsed her own future, and as she walked away she prayed anew for deliverance from the evil that beset her.

. . .

All in all, it had been a good week. Six more Sagittarons had succumbed to Mellorak sickness—five men and one woman, all in their sixties. Jack Marshall and Kelly Myer had publicly refused to be treated, hence had no one but themselves to blame for their deaths. The other four had accepted the tablets when he offered them, but in each instance he had made sure that the intervention came too late. As Mike Robert updated the log in which he recorded the details of his patients' deaths, he felt the warm glow of personal satisfaction that came with a job well done. In a matter of days, the Sagittaron filth would be isolated in its own ghetto, and in a matter of weeks it would be extinct.

. . .

"Did you get what you were looking for," Stallion asked quietly.

"Yeah, it looks like Sam Anders was right. Fortunately for us, the cylon immune system leaves a lot to be desired."

Bierns leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and exhaled a long, slow breath.

"Lieutenant, everything's gone pretty much the way Doc Cottle laid it out. The quartet who got the prescribed dose of bittamucin inside the forty-eight hour window … they've all fully recovered. The first Doral and Cavil I inoculated shrugged off the infection as easily as any young, physically active human; in fact, as best I can tell they never registered any serious discomfort. The only surprise of note is that all three of the Fives had been sick for almost half a day before the Ones started to cough and wheeze. Those bastards may look old, but they've got strong constitutions. It probably wouldn't be a very smart idea for even the best trained Colonial marine to take them on in a fair fight."

"Marines don't fight fair, Major … especially the ones who've been hanging out with Six."

"Truer words," Bierns laughed more softly. "She had my back when I took down Eric Phelan on the _Prometheus_. Making her our unarmed combat instructor turned out to be one of my better moves."

"At the time, I thought you were crazy- Hades, just about everybody on _Galactica_ thought you'd gone completely round the bend. But, dear Lords, you sure made the marines happy. Now, they'll follow you anywhere!"

"My very own fan club," the CSS agent grinned. But then he turned serious.

"Anyway, the second pair took a lot longer to fight off the disease, and they needed some pretty heavy pain medication along the way, but the Five had been symptomatic for a full twenty-eight hours when I administered the drug, and the One for forty-four. As for the other two … Cavil expired ten minutes ago."

"Expired … is that a polite way of saying that he's dead?"

"The Cavil and the Doral … yeah, they're both dead."

"So, what happens next?"

The hard-bitten spook removed a gun from his knapsack, and checked the load. "You'd better suit up," he quietly suggested.

Stallion repeatedly shook his head, but it was the gesture of a man who was resigned to his fate. The lieutenant's marriage to Artemis and Aphrodite Six had stripped him of the ability to pretend that Cylons were unfeeling machines. Cylons didn't come with off switches, and the Heavy Raider was now well outside resurrection range. Permanent death … Lieutenant Hephaestus Jerome Fears was about to become an accessory to cold-blooded murder—something that he had never signed on for when he enlisted in the Colonial fleet. He felt vaguely sick.

Bierns got up and walked to the rear of the cylon vessel. He had made this trip many times over the last eight days, but it was getting progressively harder. The stench of urine and feces was bad enough, but Ghostrider hadn't bothered to remove the Five's corpse when Doral had died thirty-six hours earlier. The body was getting ripe.

"Are you enjoying yourself," one of the two surviving Cavils contemptuously inquired. "Does our suffering give you some sick sense of satisfaction?"

"Oh, John, don't be such a hypocrite. You didn't allow your 'guests' on the _Arethusa_ to use the toilet, so I find it hard to believe that the smell of a rotting corpse really offends you."

"What are you going to do with us?" Aaron Doral had never tasted fear … not until now.

Bierns whipped out his gun and, without answering, shot each of the Cavils in the temple.

"I'm told that, when terminal death looms, you take comfort in something called the Prayer to the Cloud of the Unknowing. I'll give you a few minutes."

Despite their shackles, the two copies of Aaron Doral managed to clasp hands. Each had died more than once, but each knew that this time would be the last.

"_Heavenly Father, grant us the strength, the wisdom, and above all a measure of acceptance, however small. Receive our souls this day, and deliver our people from the evil that besets us. Amen."_

John Bierns shot both of his uncles in the head. After donning his own flight suit, he lowered the Heavy Raider's ramp and unceremoniously tossed the half dozen Cylon corpses out into space. Leaving them to drift forever among the stars, he ordered Stallion to set course for the long journey back to New Caprica.

In the first generation, there had been thirteen copies of each cylon model, but the Ones had slaughtered all of their brothers and sisters. In the second generation, they had spared no one. John Bierns had now left three of the thirteen original Cavils dead in his wake. 


	5. Chapter 5: Damsel in Distress I

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES SUGGESTIVE OF SEX AND VIOLENCE**

CHAPTER 5

DAMSEL IN DISTRESS I

As Lee Adama made the long walk across the windswept settlement from the makeshift landing field to his apartment overlooking the river, he kept his head down and emitted a steady stream of curses under his breath. Viewed from orbit, the delta region had seemed the obvious place to lay out the colony, but no one had anticipated the biting wind that whipped near constantly across the flatlands, much less the fine particles of sand that got into everything, including a man's eyes and lungs.

_This is no place to raise a baby,_ he thought as he hurried along. _Hell, the sunlight's so anemic that we may have to double the area under cultivation just to get the same yield that Aerilon and Tauron were supplying year in and year out._

Lee knew that the President was spending a lot of time out in the newly tilled fields to the east of the settlement. Everyone had been surprised to learn that Gaius Baltar was a farmer by trade, but his willingness to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty had shocked even his firmest supporters. The front page of one of the first issues of the New Caprica _Times _had featured a photograph of the President standing at the bottom of a muddy ditch, shovel in hand. He was showing some of the young marines in Colonel Phillips' engineering brigade how to prevent the banks from being undercut by the rushing water, which would quickly cause the entire irrigation network to become clogged with silt. Billy Keikeya had captured the moment on film, and the result had been a noticeable uptick in the President's popularity in the most recent polls.

What the people had yet to discover, of course, was that the Leobens and even some of the D'Annas had also taken to the soil—and that they weren't interested in growing wheat and barley. Baltar and his enthusiastic band of cylon followers had set a certain amount of land aside for the cultivation of what was being loosely described to the public as "medicinal herbs." Sooner or later, however, the fact that the President had assigned a full squad of centurions to stand an around the clock watch in one remote corner of the fields was bound to raise awkward questions.

_What am I thinking? When people find out that their President is spending most of his time personally overseeing what promises to be a bumper crop of cannabis sativa, he'll probably jump another twenty points in the polls. For sure, Roslin will give him a ringing endorsement._

Although his visits to _Colonial One _had been infrequent, it had not escaped Apollo's attention that occasionally there had been a pungent and easily recognized odor in the air.

As Lee continued to trudge through the dismal streets of New Caprica City, he offered an imaginary salute to Sharon Baltar. Being the National Security Advisor to the Office of the President was a demanding job, but it was one that he relished. His days were mostly spent up in the air, flying his Viper in systematic, low level passes over the planet's relatively narrow temperate zone. He was scouting out sites where they could hide their military assets, and he had already found four good ones—heavily forested valleys in mountainous terrain pocketed with deep caverns.

_I can reposition the Raiders and centurions … even the Cylons … no problem there. But Sharon's right … this has to be a blended operation. Now, how do I remove several hundred mostly single young men and a lot of heavy equipment from the settlement without anyone catching on? Tomorrow, I'd better have a talk with Phillips first thing. Probably my best bet's to have him loan people to the work crews that Laird has crawling all over Cloud Nine and the Zephyr. They go up, but they never come back down …_

Deep in thought, Apollo walked steadily through the streets. The sun was going down, and the shadows were lengthening. He was eager to get home, eager to hold his beautiful cylon wife in his arms.

"_Lee?"_

. . .

"So tell me, sister, what does love feel like? Does it make you feel all warm and tingly … like this?"

The Six twisted the rheostat on the controller, and Mara ground her cheek into the floor, the pain now all consuming. Every nerve in her body was on fire, and she had long since lost control of many of her motor functions. Her eyelids were twitching uncontrollably, and her arms and legs just as violently palpitating. She couldn't see her wrists, not with her arms cuffed behind her back, but she knew that the manacles had bit deep, and that the steel was now slick with her blood.

"What is it you want from me," Mara finally managed to gasp.

"Answers, not questions," the Six snarled. She chose a higher setting, and Mara screamed in agony. She didn't sense the stream of urine that began to puddle on the floor around her, but it brought a triumphant smile to the sadistic Six's lips. She had decided at the outset to introduce the traitorous machine to the rules of this particular game by inflicting the maximum amount of pain in the shortest possible period of time. Mara would die, only to download and start the process anew. Her body would be fresh, but the pain would carry over in her mind. The Six had an almost limitless supply of husks at her disposal, and she wouldn't relent until she had broken the bitch completely.

"Love is a flame," Mara proudly proclaimed, "but it warms without burning. It seals the shattered circle, and makes us whole."

"And I'll bet the sex isn't bad either," her tormentor mocked. "Did you train him well, sister? Is John any good in bed?"

"He was gentle, and caring. You cannot possibly imagine what it feels like to be held in the arms of a man who loves you … to see all of that love every time you look into his eyes …"

"Yes, yes," the Six said impatiently, _"but was he any good in bed?"_

"There's a difference between having sex and making love, sister. I pray that one day you will discover this for yourself."

The Six reached out and grabbed Mara by the hair. She violently twisted her head up, and held a glass filled with a greenish liquid to her lips.

"Drink this," she ordered. "You need the electrolytes."

Mara complied, but fully half the bitter tasting fluid dribbled down her chin, spilling onto the floor beneath her legs.

The Six savagely kissed her, forcing her mouth open and driving her tongue deep into Mara's mouth. She was on fire, and she wanted her slave to douse the flame.

"Did he kiss you like this," she demanded. "Does he know how to use his fingers?"

The Six brutally drove two of her own fingers deep inside her helpless captive, reveling in the act of rape. She owned Mara Andreotis' body, but what she really wanted was to take possession of her soul.

Without warning, she changed her pace, and her target. She began to massage Mara's nub, which was swollen with need.

"Did he enjoy going down on you," she murmured. "Did you enjoy taking him in your mouth?"

"Frak you," Mara said through clenched teeth. With her hands chained beneath her, the pain in her shoulders was excruciating.

"Exactly what I have in mind," the Six leered. She mounted her victim and began to ride her, grinding away with the hard edge of her pelvic bone. "I want to find out what you can do, so I'll make you an offer you can't refuse. You crawl between my legs and service me to my satisfaction, and I'll give you a day of rest."

"Go to hell," Mara screamed, but she was praying to God not to allow her body to betray her.

The Six reached out for the controller, set it on the lowest setting, and turned it on. She was searching for the balance point, the place in the mind where pain and pleasure fused into one all-encompassing whole.

Mara Andreotis shuddered with revulsion. She was a Six, and she had been programmed for seduction. Once her greatest asset, her sexuality had now become her greatest liability. Her body began to shake, but this time she could not tell whether it was responding to the renewed pain or to the first stirrings of pleasure that threatened to undermine all of her defenses.

. . .

"_Shevon! What the … what are you doing here?"_

"Lee, I need your help! Please …"

The distraught young blond reached out to grasp him by the arm. "I don't know if they're watching. Please, try and act natural … like you're meeting an old friend whom you haven't seen in a long time."

Even in the fading light, Apollo could see the fear in Shevon's eyes. His military training took over, and he pulled her close—just two old friends sharing a warm embrace.

"What's going on," he whispered into her ear. "Who's watching you?"

"The Sons of Ares."

"What? I thought you worked for Six. Shevon, how in the name of the gods did you get mixed up with those creeps?"

"They're muscling in on Six's operation. Lee, can you come to my tent?"

"Shevon …"

"I know, Lee. I know all about Creusa and the baby. And I'm happy for you … happy that you finally found the person you've been searching for all these years, even if she did turn out to be a Cylon. I need to talk, but it's got to look like business. Please, Lee; I'm desperate, and I don't know who else I can trust."

"Gods, Shevon … if anybody sees me going into your tent, especially a Cylon …"

"I'll take care of it, Lee; I promise you. I'll find some excuse to go talk with your wife … set her straight. I won't allow this mess to threaten your marriage. Please …"

"Okay," he nodded. Shevon had helped him through a rough patch, when nothing in his life had made any sense. He still thought of her as a friend, and Lee Adama was not the kind of man who would turn his back on a friend in need.

"Okay … we'll go back to your tent and sort this out. If anybody's watching, right now I'm just another married man looking for a little action on the side. Lead the way."

Shevon led Apollo away from the river, but they hadn't gone more than thirty meters when a Six crossed their path. Lee caught the flicker of recognition in her eyes, and he felt the full force of her contempt and anger as she stormed away. In that moment, he suddenly and belatedly realized that the Cylons at large must know an awful lot about his personal life, including the details of his former relationship with the prostitute now standing at his side.

. . .

"He seems terribly ill," the Six quietly observed. She was keeping her distance from the young human, whom the nursing staff had just bedded down on the opposite side of the tent. Although the President would dedicate the first wing of their new hospital in the morning, tonight Six was standing on the unsanitary dirt floor of the only functioning medical center in the settlement.

D'Anna studied her patient. He was pale and sweaty, and she knew that the occasional bouts of violent coughing that wracked his wiry frame were alarming her companion.

"Do you know what's wrong with him?"

D'Anna glanced at the chart that she was holding in her hand. "Mr. Lackey is a Sagittaron, so the preliminary diagnosis is Mellorak disease. There's been an outbreak in the Sagittaron community."

"It's contagious, isn't it?"

Since her conviction for crimes against humanity, the Six had spent her days laboring in the fields and her nights in the unheated cell that would be her home for the next two years. The long hours bent over a hoe had filled her head with dreams of stealing a Heavy Raider and jumping away from this hellhole, but the four Colonial marines assigned to her were well disciplined, kept their spacing, and never dropped their guard. Now, she was nearing the end of her first shift in the patient ward, and she just wanted to get back to her cell. The sickly humans were depressing, and the simple, candy-striped dress that she was wearing made her feel utterly ridiculous. Although it stopped several inches above her knees, there was nothing even vaguely suggestive about the cut.

"Yes, and there's no reason to believe that we're immune. But don't worry, Six; the injection you received this morning will keep you from getting sick."

"Three, I don't understand how you can come here day after day. Why are you doing this?"

"My husband and I are both healers. Sherman cares for the body, and I tend to the soul. God has commanded me to spread His word among these people, and I shall do His bidding."

D'Anna looked curiously at her younger sister. She had assumed that everyone in the collective was aware of her mission.

"Now come," she said firmly; "let us go speak with Mr. Lackey; perhaps we can ease his fears as well as relieve his pain."

D'Anna set off across the tent, with the visibly reluctant Six trailing behind her.

"Hello, Mr. Lackey; my name is D'Anna Cottle, and this is Six. She's a nurse's aide, but this is her first day on the job, so I'm counting on you and the other patients to keep an eye on her, and to prevent her from getting into any trouble. Will you do that for me?"

"With pleasure," he laughed; his eyes were glued to the Six's long and very shapely legs. And then another coughing spasm shook his body.

"Six, help him to sit up." D'Anna reached for a glass of water.

"_You want me to touch him,"_ the Six asked incredulously.

"He doesn't bite, sister … at least, I don't think he does. So, help him."

The Six leaned over, got a hand beneath the human's back, and awkwardly pushed him into a sitting position. When she looked up, she found his hand extended towards her.

"Thanks, Six; and, by the way, my name's Eric."

Six shook his hand, while her brain began processing long lists of bacteria and even more nasty viruses that she was convinced were now busily burrowing their way into her skin.

_He has nice eyes, though, and really nice hair,_ she mused. Eric Lackey was 28, with thick waves of black hair and mauve colored eyes that nicely complemented his ruggedly chiseled features. His heavily muscled arm was darkly tanned from his own long hours in the fields.

_Gods, but she's gorgeous! A blond-haired, blue-eyed angel dispatched from the heights of Olympus just to brighten up my day!_

_It's too bad that he's a human … and a Sagittaron! _

Six had heard about the Sagittarons—they lived in huts, dressed in animal skins, hunted with clubs, and offered up human sacrifices to the vengeful demons who dominated their lives.

D'Anna watched the interplay between Six and the human, and smiled to herself. Eric Lackey was young and healthy, but he had had the good sense to come in for the bittamucin injection as soon as he had begun to show symptoms. They were keeping him overnight purely as a precaution: Sherman had assured her that he would be, as her husband liked to put it, _right as rain in the morning_.

"Six, please attend to Mr. Lackey's needs while I go visit Mr. Alvaro. He also has Mellorak, but his condition is more advanced." D'Anna deposited a stool next to the bed, and invited the Six to sit.

"I thought that Sagittarons didn't take medicine," she commented as she studied her first patient. "Isn't it an affront to your gods?" _God, forgive me, but he's really handsome!_

"You're right, Six." Eric Lackey had a huge but sheepish grin on his face. "Your average Sagittaron is paranoid, pigheaded, and argumentative. Medicine's an abomination, and anything more advanced than Burdock root is a sin against the gods. Physicians are spreading disease because they refuse to acknowledge that the body and the mind are myths. The life that we lead on this plane of existence is a mirror within a mirror … the only thing that matters is the purity of our souls on the day when the gods summon us home. Prejudice … bigotry … Sagittarons may not have a monopoly, but they sure as hell hold the patent."

"I take it that you don't subscribe to your people's beliefs?"

"No. I'm a heretic … an abomination … a soul condemned to suffer unto eternity in the fieriest corner of Hades."

"An abomination," Six reflected. "How curious life can be. We have children … hybrid children. Many of my brothers and sisters regard them as angels, sent by God to deliver us from evil. But there are others who dismiss them as abominations, nothing more and nothing less. Is everything that's new and different … everything that challenges our received view of the world around us … to be decried as an abomination?"

"Hey, anytime you swim against the stream, you threaten those who're content to go with the current. There's a price to be paid for being different."

"You sound just like one of my brothers," Six laughed. "Are you sure you're not a Cylon?"

"Pretty sure," Eric chuckled. "Gods, but you're beautiful."

"What?"

"I'm sorry; that just slipped out."

"Don't apologize. I'm as vain as any human woman. Flattery is the key to my heart … but I would prefer it to be sincere."

"When I get out of here, will you give me a chance to prove my sincerity?"

"Yes, but I don't have a lot of free time. When I leave here, it's straight back to my cell."

"What? You're a criminal? What'd you do … rob a bank, or something?"

"Something along those lines," the Six sighed. The human obviously hadn't paid any attention to her trial, and for some reason that pleased her. "Anyway, I have to do fifty hours a week of forced labor, and counseling eats up still more of my time. What's left over … I just sit and stare at the walls."

"You've just described my childhood," Eric countered. "Detention for mouthing off to the teachers … being grounded for challenging all the crap that the priests kept shoveling down our throats … there really is a price to be paid for being different. I've been there. I know what you're going through."

"Did you have four Colonial marines holding your leash?" Six casually nodded her head towards the entrance to the tent. Two of her minders were watching her intently.

"No," the young Sagittaron was quick to concede; "things were never that bad. So, anyway, what are you doing for the rest of my life?"

"Two years of community service, after which I'm supposed to become a productive member of our bold, new world."

"How productive is productive?"

"No one's got around to telling me. But then again, I don't think anyone's really thought that far ahead. I've come to the conclusion that we're all just making it up as we go along."

"Me, too. Sometimes, I feel like we're on a stage, but half the props are missing, someone forgot to turn on the lights, and there's no audience …"

Eric was cut off in mid-thought by another coughing spasm.

"Are you in pain," the Six asked. Not knowing what else to do, she offered her patient another glass of water.

"Thanks, Six," he gratefully replied. "Trust me … it sounds a lot worse than it is. Something tickles my throat; I start coughing, and then I can't stop. It's a bloody nuisance."

"Are you bleeding, too?" Genuinely alarmed, the Six climbed to her feet …

"Hey! Hey! Settle down, Six! It's just an expression … a bit of slang. We humans are a walking, talking collection of clichés and odd sayings. We don't know where ninety percent of them come from, but we all know what they mean. For example, 'putting the pedal to the metal' means that you're supposed to floor it when you're in a car, but everywhere else it means that you're supposed to go all out. You have to be careful not to take us literally."

"You are a very complicated species," Six observed. "Do you ever actually mean what you say … or say what you mean?"

"Well, it's always best to start from the presumption that guys- especially guys my age- have one thing on their mind, and only one thing."

"Sex?"

"We have a winner!"

"Then we have something in common, after all,"

"Meaning?"

"We Sixes like to frak … and we are not shy when it comes to satisfying our needs."

Six felt the first stirrings of desire as various subroutines began to come on line. She leaned in close to the human, and flicked a lock of hair off of his brow. She noted that his eyes had suddenly gone very wide.

"In fact," she went on in a soft, silken voice, "we can be … most insistent."

"_Holy Hera!" _Eric was sorely tempted to pinch himself, just to make sure that he wasn't dreaming.

Six slowly walked her fingers up the young Sagittaron's chest. "When you are no longer sick, will you come to visit me?"

"Will I? _Will I? Six, wild horses couldn't keep me away!_"

"What does that mean?"

"It means … it means that I'll run through burning fire, crawl across broken glass, and swim raging rivers to get to you!"

"Wouldn't it be simpler," she smiled, "to meet me here at the end of my shift, and walk me back to my cell?"

"Yeah … sure … I can do that too."

Six kissed him tenderly on the lips, but she allowed the moment to stretch.

"I have to go now," she said as she finally stood up, "but I'll be back in the morning. I'll ask Three to let me look after you. Sleep well."

On the opposite side of the tent, D'Anna had a contented half-smile on her face. The Six clearly didn't realize that her integration into their newly blended society was progressing by leaps and bounds. Ultimately, however, her lack of awareness wouldn't matter.

_Sixes are so predictable, _she thought; _so like the human male. _She couldn't help but marvel at how smoothly the whole plan was proceeding.

. . .

The longer they talked, the angrier Lee Adama got. Shevon was an adult—a capable woman fully aware of the risks that came with her profession. Apollo reckoned that she could take care of herself; indeed, he was reasonably sure that she would never have sought him out if the Sons of Ares had targeted her with their threats. But Paya made her vulnerable, and Lee suspected that she wasn't the only prostitute in the settlement being blackmailed in this crude fashion. Most of them had children.

"Shevon, you really need to go to the police. They can protect you … hell, it's their job!"

"Lee, I can't work if I'm in protective custody, and I'm not going to raise my daughter in a jail cell. Leave the police out of this. I'm only asking you to do me one favor, and that's to tell Six what's going on. I'd go myself, but Enzo has people everywhere. If they see me going anywhere near the _Prometheus_, he'll grab Paya and he'll cut her. He wasn't bluffing, Lee; he'll do it … he'll really do it."

"I know … I know. Gods, it's a nightmare. Shevon, what do you expect Six to do? _What do you want her to do?_"

"Lee, she needs to hit the Sons of Ares before they hit her—she needs to hit them fast and hard. But right now, what I want is for Dino to come collect Paya and take her back to the _Prometheus_. It's the only place where she'll be safe."

"Okay … okay … I can see that … but the moment word gets out that Paya's on the freighter, Carlotti will put two and two together, and he'll come for you. You know that, don't you? He'll torture you to death as a warning to everybody else that's thinking of crossing him."

"Lee, let me worry about Enzo. Just help Paya! Please, save my little girl!"

. . .

Sharon was walking the dirt floor, and becoming increasingly desperate. She had offered Hera her breast, hoping that she was simply hungry, but she could tell now when Hera was crying because she was hungry or tired, or simply cranky. This was something else.

"Helo, I'm worried. She won't stop crying, and I have no idea what's wrong. Do you think we should take her to Doc Cottle?"

"Give her to me," Karl said as he held out his arms to receive his daughter. Sharon passed Hera to her husband, and he cradled her in his arms, but it made no difference. Hera simply refused to stop crying.

The tent flap was pushed aside, and two of Sharon's sisters walked in. Many of Hera's aunts lived in the surrounding tents, and they kept a close eye on the tiny miracle in their midst.

"What's wrong with Hera," one of them worriedly asked.

Karl felt his daughter's forehead, and he didn't know whether he should be relieved or alarmed that there was no sign of a fever. He glanced quickly at Sharon, making note of her clothing. Like so many of the Eights, she now wore her hair in a tight bun with a single ponytail. She had shed all of the weight that she had gained during her pregnancy, and it was getting harder and harder for him to distinguish her from her sisters. There were her breasts, of course, but if the tent got crowded he couldn't exactly go around taking measurements. To be sure, Sharon's sisters wouldn't have minded … quite the opposite. Helo had long since come to the conclusion that he could sleep with virtually the whole production line if he so desired, but his ego wasn't that swollen, nor was he that insecure. He loved _his_ Sharon, and he held tight to the memories of all that they had shared on the surface of Caprica. She wasn't just one more of the seemingly endless copies that had rolled off the cylon assembly line, and he was prepared to deck anyone who questioned her individuality.

"We don't know," he said as he gently bounced his daughter in his arms. "She's not sick, she's not hungry, and I don't think she's sleepy. She just seems to be out of sorts."

"Hey, it happens," he added defensively as four more Eights came charging into their tent.

"Don't you people ever knock," he asked. There were no doors on baseships, and the concept of personal privacy had barely gained a foothold among the thousands of Eights now settled on the planet. They came and went as they pleased.

Karl didn't bother to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"What's wrong with Hera," Philista Liu unknowingly repeated as she stormed into the tent with Marc Jacobs and their Sharon in tow.

"She claustrophobic," Sharon snapped. There were times when being the center of attention for her entire model just made her want to scream. This was one of those times. "And you're not helping."

"You should take her to Doc Cottle," Jacobs urged. "Mellorak's popping up all over the place. You don't want to take any chances."

"Has Hera been immunized," Philista pressed.

"Immunized against what," Helo countered. "For God's sake, Hera's blood doesn't have any antigens. She's never had a sick day in her young life. I almost wish that she was down with a fever or something, because then we'd at least know what to do!"

Karl had to speak up to be heard over Hera's screams. His little bundle of joy had her eyes tightly shut, and she was shrieking at the top of her lungs. An air raid siren wouldn't have offered much competition.

"Okay … okay," he said as he surrendered. "We'll take her to Doc Cottle."

Sharon took Hera back, and wrapped her in a blanket to protect her against the chill of the deepening night. The three of them set off across the camp, with a small army of Eights escorting them through the darkness.

. . .

When Lee opened the door to his apartment, he was surprised to find it in total darkness. And then he thought about the Six who had seen him with Shevon, and surprise turned to sadness. He didn't know which hurt the most—the knowledge that his actions had deeply wounded his wife, or the fact that she had condemned him without a hearing.

He paused in the gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The silence was thick and ominous, but it had a funereal flavor, which told him that Creusa was waiting within.

In the living room, he could just make out her silhouette. She was sitting on the couch, facing the window, a motionless and unblinking statue. For the first time in their relationship, Apollo sensed that he was in the presence of something inhuman … something fundamentally alien.

The light from the nebula was so faint that he couldn't make out Creusa's features. What would he find when he knelt before her and clasped her hands? Anger? Disappointment? He knew that he was doing the right thing ... why, then, did it feel like such a betrayal?

"Are you all right," he asked, keeping his voice low.

"No." She spoke only the one word, and her eyes continued to look past him.

"Creusa, it's not what you think. Shevon's a friend, and she needs help. I don't have time to explain, but she's in really bad trouble, and I've got to go."

"You're going back to her … _for seconds_?"

The anguish in his wife's voice struck Lee Adama like a punch delivered squarely to the jaw. For one long, confused second, he was back on Caprica … Gianne telling him about the baby. Crushing her happiness … watching her recoil … and when she had finally spoken, it was in that same disbelieving tone. Apollo was suddenly very, very thankful that he couldn't read the expression on Creusa's face in the nebula's dusty glow. He was afraid of what awaited him in the shadows.

"I wanted to die. I wanted it so badly that it became a challenge to get out of my rack, put on my clothes … _do anything_. I was so tired, a bone-numbing fatigue that ate its way into my very soul. Shevon brought me back from the brink … Shevon and Paya. I looked at her, and I kept seeing my little girl … the one I would have had if I had been less selfish … if I could have just stopped feeling sorry for myself in those few, precious seconds when Gianne …"

Lee climbed to his feet, and his voice hardened. No matter what it cost him, he _had_ to do this.

"I'm not going to let them hurt Paya. I'm through running, through leaving people behind. I love you, Creusa, but I've got to go."

Lee hastened into the bedroom, stripped off his flight suit, and let it drop to the floor. He stuck the automatic in the waistband of his trousers, threw on his jacket, and shoved a second gun and several spare clips of ammunition into his pockets. If the Sons of Ares wanted a war, he'd give them one.

The light suddenly came on, and Lee whirled around to see Creusa standing in the doorway. Her hands were caressing their unborn child, he couldn't tell whether consciously or unconsciously … but there was no missing the concern on her face—the concern, or the fear.

"Is she worth it, Lee? Worth running the risk of getting yourself killed? Worth leaving your daughter without a father if this all goes wrong?"

"I can't walk away from this, Creusa. I care about Paya. If I hadn't met you, I might have …"

Apollo simply shook his head. In truth, he had absolutely no idea how things might have worked out with Shevon, but he had entertained fantasies about the three of them becoming a family. He was too honest with himself not to admit that it was all guilt … all a form of self-imposed penance for what he had done to Gianne and the baby. But that hadn't made his feelings for Paya any less real.

"Can you at least try not to be a hero? Take some of my sisters with you. A few of them are spoiling for a fight."

"Is it boredom," he laughed, "or can't they get killing humans out of their system?"

"Perhaps it's a bit of both," Creusa conceded with a perfectly straight face.

"Well, I don't intend to make tonight Lee Adama's last stand. I'm going to sneak out the back way, and head for the _Prometheus_. All Shevon wants me to do is let Six know what's going on, and get Paya to safety. She'll send Dino Panattes to sort it out, but if he needs backup, he's got it."

"Adamas," she sniffed. "You're all gangsters at heart. You once told me that great uncle Sammy was your childhood hero—and he was a top Ha'la'tha hit man."

Lee kissed her, and he poured every ounce of the love that he felt for his beautiful wife and the daughter that rested beneath his hand into the kiss. And then, without looking back, he brushed past her, and hastened out into the night.

. . .

Hera was still screaming when they reached the oversized tent that doubled as a maternity and pediatric ward. An Eight with nursing experience on one of the resurrection ships was at the admission's desk, and she jumped to her feet in alarm when Sharon carried her daughter across the threshold. The Eight's eyes went wide when a small army of concerned humans and Cylons crowded into the tent behind the mother and child.

"We don't know what's wrong." Helo anticipated the obvious question. "That's why we're here. We want Doc Cottle or Doctor Robert to examine her."

"Wait here," the Eight instructed. "I'll go find Three."

She hurried off, but quickly returned with D'Anna. No one had ever formally designated her for the role, but if the hospital could be said to have an administrator, the deeply pious Three was it.

"What seems to be the problem," she asked as she gauged the size of the crowd that was gathered behind Sharon and Helo.

"Hera … something's the matter with Hera." D'Anna caught the strong undercurrents of fear and uncertainty in her sister's voice.

"May I hold her?"

Sharon passed her child to D'Anna, and as soon as the baby was settled in her arms, she stopped crying.

"Huh?" Karl was stunned. Hera had been screaming non-stop for more than an hour. The silence that now enveloped him was literally deafening.

"What's the matter, Hera?" D'Anna used her finger gently to wipe the tears from Hera's cheeks. "What are you trying to tell us, sweetheart?"

"Doc Cottle …"

"My husband and Doctor Robert are both in surgery," D'Anna interrupted. "Ruth Gabriel and Esther Cohen have both gone into labor, and Ruth is experiencing complications."

"_What?"_ Helo had never been a big believer in coincidence. "They went into labor _simultaneously?_"

"Simultaneously," D'Anna agreed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll make sure that my husband knows you're here. He will get to you as quickly as possible." She handed Hera to her father, and frowned when the child instantly resumed her crying. . . .

"Ruth, I'm not going to sugar coat this." Sherman Cottle had decided, in his usual gruff way, to give it to her straight. "Your baby's not in the head down position, so right now we're looking at a breech birth. "We've got two options. I can put you out and safely deliver your son surgically, or I can distend your cervix, insert my hand into your uterus, and manually manipulate him into the proper position. Surgery always carries a risk, and it will reduce your chances of carrying any future pregnancy successfully to term. But the internal cephalic procedure will hurt like hell, and if I compress the umbilical cord, it'll cut off the flow of oxygen to his brain. You don't need me to spell out what that would mean for the baby's development. I recommend surgery, but it's your call."

"No," Ruth said without hesitation; "no surgery. I'm not keeping this child. I don't even want to see him after he's born. I won't risk not having children in the future for the sake of this … this abomination."

Another contraction washed over her, and despite the epidural, she moaned in pain.

"Okay," Cottle nodded. He studied the image that Ishay was generating on the fetal monitor, and worked it out in his mind. _I can't go counterclockwise, or the kid will get tangled up in the cord. I'll have to work around the umbilical from start to finish, and just hope for the best._

"Here we go," he warned. He dilated the cervix and, his eyes never leaving the scan, forced his way into Ruth Gabriel's womb.

In the waiting room, Philista and Helo both shivered when they heard the high-pitched, terrible scream that emanated from one of the tent's many hidden recesses. Several of the Eights blinked in surprise, but they were all much tougher than they looked, and so they managed to hold their emotions rigidly in check. Another hybrid baby was being born, but its fate was still uncertain.

And little Hera Agathon continued to shriek without cease.

. . .

"Good evening, Captain. It's been a while; do you remember the drill?"

"Yeah," Lee answered. "And it's good to see that the new cylon management is upholding some of our finer and more paranoid traditions."

Apollo voluntarily surrendered his two guns, and waited patiently for KuhnLao to finish patting him down.

The bodyguard raised his eyebrows when his hands brushed up against the spare clips.

"You look like you're expecting all Hell to break loose. Got any grenades?"

"Just the guns," Lee tersely replied. "I need to see the Six. Is she about?"

"She's holding court in the bar. You want me to take you in?"

"No … no … you should stay here, and keep your eyes open. The Sons of Ares …"

Apollo didn't have to finish his thought. KuhnLao tensed, and his eyes began systematically to scan the surrounding terrain. There was only one way to get into the _Prometheus_, and he was standing squarely in the middle of it.

"Have a good evening, Captain." The gangster's voice was soft and excessively polite. KuhnLao was ruthless, and like all truly dangerous men, never felt the need for bluster.

Lee plunged into the heart of the ship, and as he walked the long central corridor he could not help but remark how much the _Prometheus_ had changed. In space the freighter had been the beating heart of the black market, and it had pulsed with the desperation of the men and women who had come to its decks in search of everything from cigarettes and antibiotics to forbidden pleasures. Now, it was eerily quiet.

But the bar hadn't changed, and the Six was indeed holding court.

"_Lee," _she exclaimed as she rose smoothly to her feet. "This is an unexpected surprise. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Hiris Six was happily married to Erin Mathias, but that did not stop her from openly appreciating Lee Adama's handsome features and firmly muscled body. The once jaded Cylon prostitute had long considered Apollo to be the one who got away, and the fact that he had ended up marrying another Six amused her no end.

Lee sat down, his expression grim, and the Six's demeanor changed. She knew that this was no casual social call.

"Shevon's in trouble. The Sons of Ares are threatening to go after Paya with a razor if Shevon doesn't start working for them. She's terrified. She's convinced they mean business."

Six cast a sideways glance at Dino Panattes, the unspoken question plainly to be read in her eyes. He softly shook his head. Neither of them had expected Enzo's crew to be this ambitious, or this reckless.

"Shevon wants to get Paya to safety. She asked me to come here, and put you in the loop. She wants Dino to bring Paya back to the _Prometheus_."

"Where is she now?"

"With Aelia; Rufa … her little girl is Paya's age. Shevon says that they take turns babysitting. Six, what about Rufa … Persephone ... what about all the others? Shevon thinks that the Sons of Ares are trying to take over. If she's right, doesn't it stand to reason that they'd threaten everyone with a child?"

"They're scattered all over the settlement," Dino observed. He could read the Six's thoughts. "It's like a checkerboard—everyone has her own turf, gets an equal shot at the action."

Hiris nodded in understanding. "We don't have enough manpower," she summarized. "We can't spread our people out across the city, and still protect the ship."

"You think they want to take down _Prometheus_," Lee gasped in surprise.

"It's what I'd do," Dino agreed. He had been tutoring the Six with no name for months, and as her _consigliere _as well as her top enforcer it pleased him no end to discover that her thinking had become as devious as his own.

"All right, here's the way we're going to play it." Six stood up and began issuing orders. "Dino, I want you to go find Anthia. If Enzo has people watching the ship, they'll follow you. Everyone knows that you've got the hots for my sister, so you won't be setting off any alarms."

The tough little gangster drew in upon himself. The Six with the flaming red-gold hair that hung below her breasts was, in his judgment, the most stunning woman on this or any other planet. He _wanted_ her, but until this moment he hadn't realized that his feelings were so transparent.

"Tell Anthia what's going on, and have her organize enough Sixes to locate the children and get them all to safety. But keep them away from _Prometheus_—housing the kids in one of their own tents will do the trick."

"Boss, I don't follow you." Dino's first instinct was to withdraw to the ship, which was a heavily armed fortress.

"It'll keep Enzo off balance, and force him to divide _his _manpower. And we might just get lucky. If those fools pick a fight with one of my sisters, they'll soon find out that they've declared war on all of us."

Dino grinned with understanding, but Lee jumped to his feet.

"Hey, wait a second! Shouldn't we go to the police? Most of them are ex-marines, and every single one of those guys would go to the mat for you and Erin!"

"No," Six said emphatically. "I don't want my wife, or Caprica, to become involved in this."

"It's a gang war," Dino patiently explained. "We have to send a message, and we have to send it our way. We don't want no cops messing around in our business."

"But you can help, Lee." Hiris briefly wondered if everyone could see how badly _she _had the hots for Lee Adama. She was desperate to bed him, and one of the nicest things about their marriage was how readily Erin tolerated her amorous escapades. Matty had made it clear from the outset that she understood her cylon wife's needs, and as long as Six kept it within well understood boundaries, she was prepared to look the other way.

_But Sixes aren't Eights,_ she sighed inwardly; _we don't steal one another's men._

"How?"

"Misdirection. Here, take a hundred cubits." Six blindly held out her hand, and one of her henchmen dropped the money onto her palm. "You collect Shevon, and you take her back to your apartment. It's the last thing on Caprica that anybody would expect. If those frakking sons of bitches stop you, tell them that your kinky wife is up for a threesome, and she wants to do it with the former girlfriend. Offer them their cut right then and there. They'll take it, and probably congratulate you on your good fortune."

"What about Paya and Rufa? The Sons of Ares must have them under a microscope. If Carlotti senses what we're up to, he'll grab them both."

"I'm not going to let that happen." Six shifted her attention to a tall, heavily muscled Tauronese gunman leaning quietly against the wall to her left. "Snake, do you know where Aelia lives?"

"Yes, Guatrau," the heavily tattooed mobster affirmed.

"Good. We'll give Lee a ten minute head start. Dino, you'll go next. Get a couple of Sixes to Aelia's as quickly as you can, and make sure that they're heavily armed. Snake, I want you and the Claw to rendezvous with them. Your job is to get everyone out of there alive, and then you stay with Aelia and the kids. _You do not let anyone near them except for our people and my sisters. Am I being clear?"_

"Yes, Guatrau," the thug obediently replied.

"And the Sons of Ares," Dino softly prompted.

Six repeatedly shook her head. "I promised Erin that I wouldn't start a war, and I'm going to keep my promise. But if those assholes begin it, we'll finish it."

. . .

D'Anna walked slowly into the admissions area, the radiant expression on her face a mix of awe and unbridled happiness. The newborn hybrid baby was wrapped in a blanket, and she was clutching him tightly to her chest. As soon as she drew near, Hera abruptly stopped screaming.

"Isn't he beautiful," she asked of no one in particular as she turned to show the baby to the waiting Eights. "Truly, my son is a gift from God."

"You're going to adopt him," one of the Sharons suggested, her tone somewhere between a statement and a question.

"Yes. Sherman and I have talked about it at length—and I believe that this is what Hera has been trying to tell us. She has commanded me to raise this child."

Helo's mouth fell open, and he was about to protest that his infant daughter couldn't possibly order anyone to do anything, but Sharon gently squeezed his arm, and he sensibly chose to keep his peace. If the Cylons wanted to believe that his daughter was the Queen of Heaven, who was he to set them straight?

"Samuel Ogden Cottle," D'Anna murmured. "We're naming him for papa, and for Sherman's grandfather."

"And the other newborn," one of the Eights pressed; "what is to become of the other child?" She was desperate to adopt one of the unwanted hybrid babies.

"David," D'Anna answered. "Esther has decided to keep him after all. She has chosen to name him David Balthazar Cohen."

"So, none of us …"

The disheartened Eight couldn't even finish her thought.

D'Anna gazed sympathetically across the gathering of her younger sisters. "Raising a baby is difficult," she said, "and Esther and I would both value your help … if you would care to give it."

Hera gurgled happily. The Queen of Heaven would grow up surrounded by adoring consorts.

. . .

D'Anna collapsed to the floor at the base of the console, her body so ravaged by pain that she could not control her sobbing. The loss of self-control, and the consequent humiliation, only served to compound her suffering.

It had taken three centurions to hold her down. Two had spread her legs wide, while the third had held her shackled wrists tight against the console's unyielding surface. Her face had floated just out of reach of the stream, denying her the momentary respite that suicide would have offered.

They had mounted her from the rear, as they had done thirty-five years before. Some preferred rape and some preferred sodomy, but the routine was unvarying. The Cavils had always derived much of their pleasure not from the sex act itself, but from the torment inflicted upon their chosen victim. Since they despised her above all others, it did not surprise D'Anna that they had reserved her body for their own uniquely perverse attention.

D'Anna struggled to her knees, and despite the agony that came with the movement, willed herself to drag her body away from the console. But she had not gone far when she fell onto her side. She reached between her legs, and touched herself. When she brought her hands back into the light, they were fouled with her blood.

Thoughts of her child flitted through D'Anna's mind, and she reached out and took them firmly in her mental grasp. She projected herself into a nursery of her own invention, and clasped her infant son to her bosom. The pain … yes, there was pain, but Mama Ellen had told her many times that giving birth was at once the most beautiful and the most painful experience that a woman could ever have.

Inside her projection, D'Anna embraced the pain—loved it as she loved the child who had come in its wake. She held her son to her breast, set the nipple in his tiny mouth, and encouraged him to suck. He needed her milk: it was the only thing that would keep him alive.

As she nursed the child who resided deep within her mind, D'Anna Biers, the first of all the cylon daughters, prayed silently to the One True God. The plea was one that she had tendered many times, and so far it had served her well:

_Heavenly Father, hear my prayer. Grant me the strength to persevere in the face of darkness, and let my steps never deviate from the anointed path. Protect my child from those who would harm him, and guide his hand in the performance of the tasks your divine wisdom has set before him. We are the instruments of the Lord's will, and gladly will we suffer in His name, secure in the knowledge of our resurrection into the life eternal._

The walls of D'Anna's projection exploded, and suddenly the stars were orbiting around her. No longer distant, they were now so close that she could stretch out her hands to receive them. And somewhere in this fiery cauldron of Creation, her son was waiting.

_Child, hear my voice. Know that your mother loves you, and let love and faith sustain you. Deliver the anointed into the light, as you cast the fallen into the darkness._

The first Three poured her thoughts and prayers into the galactic night, secure in the knowledge that she was the chalice and her son the vessel preordained by the prophecies.

. . .

For the second time in as many hours, Lee Adama opened the door to his apartment, but this time he had company. He was reasonably certain that he was about to die, but he still hadn't figured out whether it would be at human or cylon hands … or perhaps it would be both. When he had dutifully returned to Shevon's tent and just as dutifully brought her up to date, the normally unflappable prostitute had flown into a towering rage, slapping him so hard that he had ended up flat on his back in the dirt at her feet. Paya, she had angrily reminded him, was supposed to find refuge on the _Prometheus_. How, she had demanded to know, could he have been so stupid? Would he complacently hand _his_ daughter over to an anonymous pair of Sixes and a couple of thugs from Tauron with a combined IQ somewhere in the neighborhood of a single cell amoeba? He had to admit that Shevon had a point, but he privately suspected- _very privately_- that his one-time girlfriend was afraid that the Sixes would refuse to send her daughter home on the grounds that she was an unfit mother.

_Well, at least the lights are on. That's gotta be a good sign, right? _Few things frightened Lee Adama as much as the prospect of finding his cylon wife sitting in the dark when Shevon stormed into the living room.

Creusa was sitting quietly in an oversized chair in the far corner. Her hands were neatly folded on her swollen belly, and Apollo was immensely relieved to discover that there were no guns in evidence.

"Your husband is a complete idiot," Shevon fumed. When she looked at Lee, there were daggers in her eyes.

"If you want him, you can have him," Creusa tartly replied. She was sharpening her daggers as well, reminding Apollo in the process that pregnant Cylons were not be trifled with.

The two women glanced briefly at each other, came to an unspoken agreement, and resumed staring at Lee with unvarnished hostility. No one seemed to have anything to say, which suited Apollo just fine. He knew that he was drowning, but like every man who had ever been caught up in this particular situation, he wasn't exactly sure why.

. . .

Hundreds of light years away, his Heavy Raider still far beyond the outer layers of the gaseous nebula, John Bierns flinched. His hand drifted up to massage his heart. It was suddenly on fire, as if it had been touched by a brightly burning torch.


	6. Chapter 6: Damsel in Distress II

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND MILD SEXUALITY. D'ANNA'S SCENE ECHOES AND EXPANDS UPON MATERIAL IN SEASON ONE, CHAPTER SEVEN; AND SEASON TWO, CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE.**

CHAPTER 6

DAMSEL IN DISTRESS II

There was a loud pounding on the door, and Lee Adama almost jumped out of his skin. Creusa and Shevon had been giving him the silent treatment, and he was understandably tense.

Lee whirled around, pulled out a gun, and cocked it. He was as ready as he'd ever be.

Shevon rolled her eyes in disgust, and stared meaningfully at the Cylon. _Men … are they all this stupid?_

"Lee," Creusa said in the overly patient tone that women reserve exclusively for men who act like two year olds, "I don't think that the Sons of Ares would bother to knock. Why don't you answer the door?"

"Hey Apollo," an irritated voice yelled, "if you're still alive in there, open the frakkin' door!"

"Kara?"

"In the flesh … and I've brought lots of friends. We thought Creusa might need a little help dumping the body."

"Gee, thanks, Kara; you're all heart." Lee engaged the safety and shoved the gun into the waistband of his trousers. But when he opened the door, he discovered that Kara hadn't been exaggerating. He recognized Boomer- as far as he knew, she was still the only Eight entitled to wear a Colonial uniform- but not the three identical Sixes standing in the background. He stood aside to let them enter, and then checked the hallway before closing and bolting the door.

"So, you must be Shevon," Kara blandly remarked. She was standing directly in front of the blond call-girl with her hands on her hips and her feet planted well apart. "Come to pay your respects to my mom, have you?"

"Kara, try not to break any of the furniture, okay?" Lee was waiting for Kara to haul out a couple of pistols and challenge Shevon to an old-fashioned duel.

"Shut up, Lee." And then Kara reached into her jacket and pulled out …

_Is that a sponge? _

Apollo thought that it must be a trick of the light … or maybe he needed to have his eyes checked.

Kara let it drop to the floor, and a devilish gleam came into Creusa's eyes.

"I hope you weren't planning on using _that_ to mop up the blood," she wryly noted, "because I can tell you from experience that it's way too small. Tell me, Kara, did you come here expecting to find one corpse … or two?" Creusa glanced casually in Lee's direction.

"Frankly, I kind of thought that we'd have to scrape her off the walls," Kara said as she gestured in Shevon's general direction. "In fact, I told Six that having Apollo bring his old girlfriend over here was a pretty dumb idea all the way around. I mean, let's face it, Creusa: for the past seven months, you've been an emotional train wreck. But, she's still in one piece, so I guess I was wrong."

"My sister contacted you?"

"Yeah … on the wireless; she asked me to get my butt down here and help out."

"So, you're what … reinforcements?" Lee was still trying to figure out how such an ordinary day could end up with such a bizarre finish.

"More like a precautionary measure," Boomer suggested. "The way our sister put it, we're here 'just in case'."

"Where's my daughter," Shevon demanded. They could all hear the anxiety in her voice.

"Shevon, my sisters will keep Paya safe," Creusa said as she climbed to her feet and reached out to grasp the frightened human woman by the shoulders. "No harm will come to her … this I promise you."

Shevon took a deep breath, and managed a wan smile. "If anything were to happen to Paya," she confessed, "I don't know how I'd …"

"Nothing's going to happen," Lee interrupted. "No one in their right mind would pick a fight with a Six, and whatever else we might say about him, Enzo's not stupid. He won't go anywhere near Paya, or any of the other kids."

"Shevon, this is Boomer." Creusa nodded at the Colonial pilot by way of introduction. "And these are my sisters, Rachel and Elektra. The one staring grimly out the window is Miriam. Because Kara's such a brat, we don't let her go anywhere by herself … well, almost nowhere." Creusa smiled knowingly at Sharon.

"Boomer and I … we're sort of an item," Kara explained. "She gets the night shift, and these three babysit me during the day. I am, however, allowed to wipe my own nose and eat with a spoon, so things are starting to look up."

"Don't mind Kara, Shevon. She's a bit upset because we ruined her plans for the evening." Rachel eyed their daughter warily; her penchant for picking fights with Lee Adama, and with anyone he appeared to favor, was one of life's givens.

"You're nothing like your brother," Shevon suddenly blurted out. She wasn't about to back down from Kara Thrace, not when her daughter's life was at stake. "You don't look like him, and you sure as hell don't act like him. When Phelan kidnapped Paya, John didn't screw around. He hit the _Prometheus_ with a squad of centurions, and he didn't quit until he'd freed every child in the fleet who was being held in slavery. Are you sure that you two are related," she asked skeptically.

"On the centurion side of the family," Kara retorted. She walked over to the couch, plopped down, and put her feet up on the coffee table. "Right now, John's not here, so I'm afraid you'll have to make good with what you've got—and that's us. But let's get something straight. I'm not here to protect you. If you want to make a living by spreading your legs, that's fine, but don't go begging other people to bail you out every time you get into trouble."

"Kara, you're not helping," Creusa warned.

"I'm not here to help _her_," the cocky Viper pilot snorted. "The Sons of Ares are bad news, and Lee and Six had no business putting you in their crosshairs. We're here for you and the baby; as far as I'm concerned, the hooker's just another piece of the furniture. I don't want to see her get smashed, but she's not real high on my list of priorities."

"Like I said, Kara, you're all heart. So, close the door on your way out, will you? The last thing the three of us want to do is _ruin your evening_." Kara Thrace was an itch that Lee Adama had never quite been able to scratch. Self-indulgent, short-sighted, and often just plain stupid, she nevertheless had a unique ability to get under his skin. But the in-your-face attitude that Lee had once found so compelling had now become an irritant that he could well do without. He had grown up, and she hadn't. It was as simple as that.

"Sorry, Lee, but that's not gonna happen. Sure, we'll leave when Six gives the word, but get used to having company. You got any objections to having a centurion hang around the premises?"

"None at all … strong and silent beats the heck out of strong with a bad attitude and a big mouth."

"That's enough," Creusa said much more sternly. "Kara, I'm pleased that you're here, and that you've brought so many of my sisters with you. I appreciate your concern, and tasking a centurion to watch over us is a very good idea. Now, Shevon and I were just about to make tea, and then she was going to take a look at the nursery and make sure that Lee and I have everything that we need. Would you like to help?"

Kara shrugged her shoulders, and stood up. "How many ways are there in and out of this building?"

"Four."

"I'm going to check them out … maybe make some new friends. Boomer, you wanna come?"

"Sure," Sharon replied. Scouting out the opposition was never a bad idea.

When Apollo had once again bolted the door, he walked over to stand at Miriam's side. The stylishly blond Six was still peering out into the night, and the expression on her face was still grim.

"My sisters are out there right now, running around in the dark, trying to find the children and get them to safety. Lee, why do you humans expose your offspring to such danger? Why don't you raise them properly?"

"Shevon's actually a pretty good mother. It's ironic, really. My dad's a big success, and people admire him, but he was a terrible husband and father. He was never there for any of us. Shevon's a prostitute, and so everyone looks down on her, but she's there for Paya every single day. When it comes to parenting, she's my role model, not my father."

"But being a prostitute … that's why Paya's in danger … it's her mother's fault."

"Miriam, when you destroyed the Colonies, you took away a lot of our choices. In order to survive … to feed her child … Shevon took the only asset that she possessed and she mortgaged it. There are a lot of prostitutes in the settlement, far more than there should be—and some of them used to be accountants and real estate agents. For the women on the losing side, it's like this in every war—and we lost this one … we lost it big time."

"So, it's our fault," Miriam bitterly observed. "It all gets laid at the feet of the … _the machine_."

"And who created the machine," Apollo replied. "We did. Miriam, there's just no point in playing this game anymore. Each of us can blame the other, and we'd both be right … but where does that leave us?"

"Nowhere," the beautiful Six murmured. She was deep in thought, trying to make sense of a universe that was becoming more tangled with each passing day. Humans were so complex. Cavil was right about them … every charge that the Ones had leveled against the human race had been borne out time and time again. But he was also terribly wrong. Melpomene Meacham and Lee Adama demonstrated that fundamental truth every day—and so, in her own very complicated way, did Shevon. The human woman deeply troubled the Cylon. Shevon defied ready generalization, just like humanity at large, but it was with glib and convincing generalizations that the Ones had sold the collective on genocide.

_We were so naïve … so certain of our own innate superiority. If there had never been a Shevon, our actions would have summoned her into existence._

"We have to start over," Lee was saying; "with a fresh slate. We're doing it right this time … all of us. This time, we're giving ourselves a chance."

Standing side by side, the cylon and the human stared out into the darkness … and into the uncertainty of a future in which the simple act of having children tied man and machine inescapably together.

. . .

Keeping their heads down, Boomer and Kara ducked out one of the side entrances and quickly vanished into the night. For once, Kara blessed the swirling fog and mist that reduced visibility to a few meters in any direction.

_But it's still a shitty planet,_ Kara said to herself; _and we have to share it with some real assholes._

The two pilots had hastily decided upon a plan in the hallway. They would work their way slowly around the building, with Kara hugging the wall and venturing wherever possible into the meager light coming through the windows of the first floor units. Boomer would trail behind, deep in the darkness. Shevon and Kara were equally blond and about the same height, so there was a good chance that, in the murky light, a lookout would mistake Kara for the prostitute.

She made it to the rear entrance, where two men suddenly emerged from the shadows to confront her.

"Shevon, Shevon … where have you been hiding? Enzo wants a word with …"

The tough's voice trailed off when Kara raised her head.

"Who the frak are you?"

"My friends call me Starbuck," Kara said with a wink. "But you're not my friends."

She punched him hard in the solar plexus, and watched with a contented smile as he folded up like an accordion.

_All those hours on the heavy bag are really paying off … but this is a hell of a lot more fun._

Starbuck stepped back, but only to gain leverage. She lashed out, slamming the heel of her right foot into his knee. Kara heard something crack, and the gangster crashed to the ground.

The second thug came at her from behind. He trapped her in a bear hug, and started to squeeze the life out of her, but in basic training Starbuck had excelled in unarmed combat. She stomped down on his right ankle, and when his weight shifted, she twisted violently to the left. Strangling a curse, the tough twisted with her—a huge mistake. Starbuck abruptly reversed direction, and her forehead caught him squarely in the nose. Suddenly there was blood everywhere. He gasped in pain, relaxed his grip—and she drove her elbow into his right kidney. His arms fell away, and Starbuck pivoted on her right foot. She reared back, lined him up, and caught him in the rib cage with her left. The force of the blow sent him spinning into the wall; dazed, he slid to the ground, but he still had the presence of mind to raise his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"No more," he managed to grunt.

"What kept you," she asked when Boomer casually strolled out of the darkness.

"I was watching your back … and besides, from where I was standing, it didn't look like you needed any help. The centurions would be proud of you."

"Oh, shit," the gangster mumbled as he tore off a piece of his shirt and folded it into a compress. "You're the hybrid."

"That's right … and you've just learned the hard way that all those rumors about centurions being a part of my ancestry are true. I can do this all night and never even break into a sweat. So, pick up your buddy here, and drag your sorry ass back to whatever cesspool the Sons of Ares call home. Tell your boss that Shevon and Paya are off limits, and that this is the only warning he's going to get. Next time, I won't settle for hugs and kisses."

Boomer waited until the two gangsters had disappeared from view, and then she threw her arms around Kara and kissed her passionately.

"Welcome back, Starbuck; I've missed you!"

Kara leaned into the kiss, but she was puzzled.

"Sharon," she said when they both finally came up for air, "I thought that you didn't like Starbuck. In fact, the way I hear it—you simply can't stand the obnoxious bitch."

"That's true enough," Boomer admitted with a huge grin. "I love Kara Thrace Six, and one of these days I may just marry her. But in a fight … in a fight, it's Starbuck that I want covering my ass!"

"Literally or figuratively," Starbuck leered.

"Both," Sharon murmured happily as the second born of the hybrid children pinned her to the wall. "Both."

. . .

It had been a long night, longer than it should have been because in the dark the thousands of nearly identical tents were a rat's maze, and Anthia Six didn't know how to negotiate the labyrinth. But the Sixes had answered their hard-nosed sister's call, and they had combed the settlement in search of the human children. One by one, they had found them, and brought them home. Often, they had been unable to separate the mother from her confused and frightened child, and so they had taken it upon themselves to bring the women along as well. As a result, more than half the prostitutes in New Caprica City were now being housed at least temporarily in the warren of tents at the center of the informal compound where most Sixes lived. Since Anthia's next order of business was to find out just how "temporary" these new living arrangements were likely to prove, her long night was not yet at an end. She would have to pay a visit to the _Prometheus_, because the Guatrau was the only person who could possibly supply answers to her questions. A cylon crime lord was an idea that still took some getting used to, but then again, so was her marriage to the Colonial marine who had once been her jailer. Whatever else one might say about New Caprica, life among the humans was turning out to be far more entertaining and educational than it had ever been inside the collective. When she thought about the dull and endlessly repetitive routine that had defined her day to day existence on the baseship, Anthia started to gag.

As the Six set off across the settlement, she regretted that Dino Panattes had had to abandon her in order to go off and complete some mysterious errand of his own. She towered over the gangster by a good six inches, but the little man radiated menace, and everyone in New Caprica City gave him a wide berth. Back in the Colonies he had been known as the Ditchdigger, and Anthia had a pretty good idea how he had come by the nickname.

He wanted her. Dino's impassive features never betrayed him, but all Cylons had acute senses, and Anthia could literally smell the elevated hormonal activity whenever he was around her. So far, she had failed to respond, but only because he said so little that she couldn't get a handle on his thoughts. She couldn't manipulate what she couldn't read, and she couldn't control what she couldn't manipulate. All Sixes liked to be in control, and they all deployed their beauty and raw sensuality to enslave the males of the species flitting around them. But on this level Dino Pannates was immune to any woman's charms, and that had so far made Anthia Six hesitate.

With her long and slightly curled red-gold hair, the color an exact match for the embers in the brightly glowing fires that here and there lit up the New Caprican night, Anthia was easily the most recognizable Six on the planet. Like her sister Lida, she was unique in the sense that she was the only copy of her particular subset of the model six in existence, and she reveled in her individuality. Kara had once observed that she bore a close resemblance to the Maenads, the mythical followers of Dionysus whose idealized portraits had graced temple walls throughout the Colonies. Intrigued, Anthia had pursued the reference in the stream, where she had been surprised to discover that on Kobol the Maenads had been women blessed with superhuman strength and an insatiable sex drive … devotees who worshiped their god of the vine in orgiastic rituals that had all too often culminated in the mutilation of their husbands and lovers, and sometimes in their outright slaughter.

_They sound like they might have been our distant ancestors … a bit primitive, perhaps, but still …_

Anthia mentally sifted the legends as she walked through the night.

_Maybe Papa Saul can tell me more, especially about the Thyiades. Castrating your mate is bad enough, but eating his genitalia while everything's still attached … yuck!_

The Six smiled with genuine pleasure. Melpomene had introduced the centurions to words that adults never used—a rich and mysterious vocabulary that the children claimed as their very own. The centurions shared their finds with the hybrids, and the Cylons periodically downloaded the new data from the streams. For the Sixes and Eights in particular, mastering terms like "yucky" was not only an important part of the effort to become more human but also one of the keys to good parenting.

_You can't raise your children well if you don't speak their language. We can probably learn many useful techniques just by observing these prostitutes interacting with their offspring._

Lost in thought and with no instinct for danger, Anthia didn't sense that she was surrounded until it was far too late. Five men, variously armed, had her boxed in.

"I don't want any trouble," she said as she eyed them warily.

"Nobody gives a frak what you want, Cylon." The man was heavily muscled, and covered with tattoos. He flicked his wrist, and a long and wickedly sharp razor suddenly materialized before her eyes.

"You've been running around all night long, interfering in our business." The unseen voice came from behind her and to the right; the rattle of chains hinted at the weapon that would come at her from this direction.

"We don't like that, bitch … we don't like that one little bit." The third man was directly behind her; she assumed that he was armed, but he was smart enough not to brandish his weapon.

"A little while ago, Kara Thrace sent us a message," the Tauronese thug added as he slowly closed the distance between them. "Think of this as our reply."

Anthia didn't wait to hear more. She pivoted smartly, and kicked the unsuspecting gangster who had been standing behind her in the scrotum. She put everything she had into the blow, and he went down in a heap.

_There won't be any children in your future,_ she thought … and then her world exploded in pain. The heavy links of chain had landed squarely on the Six's back.

A tattooed hand clamped down hard on her mouth, and a fraction of a second later, the razor was dancing before her eyes. Anthia didn't hesitate. She reached up, grabbed the exposed wrist, and yanked hard. She pulled the arm down even as she raised her knee, hoping to catch the elbow and shatter it.

Her timing was perfect. She could feel the joint give way, the razor already falling in slow motion to the ground as her would-be assailant screamed in pain.

But she never saw the knife as it swept out of the darkness from her right and plunged deep into her intestines. In a distant part of her mind, she made note of the reverse grip, which told her that this man knew what he was doing and was therefore very dangerous. He had to be neutralized.

With bodies on the ground to front and back, the sheer number of her attackers afforded Anthia Six a certain amount of protection. She focused on the knife, which was still embedded inside her. She turned towards her attacker, driving the blade still more deeply into her flesh and effectively immobilizing it somewhere inside her ribcage. She clamped down on his wrist with both hands, her arms two bars of solid steel, and then she pivoted hard to her left. The knife, and the hand which held it, never moved—but the young tough went flying, and a heavily dislocated shoulder put him on the ground and out of the fight.

The chain caught her again, this time across the back of the thighs, and a fraction of a second later a club smashed into her left shoulder, shattering the clavicle and numbing her left arm.

_Frakkin' Sagittarons … who else would fight with a club?_

Anthia was off balance, leaning to the left, and very, very exposed. The chain exploded in her face, and when it withdrew, she knew that it had taken her left eye with it. The right side of her mouth was split wide open, and blood came gushing out of the wound.

A second blow from the club drove her into the ground, and the world around her began to dissolve, swallowed up in a hazy, red mist. There were more blows, but she barely felt them as the darkness yawned wide to greet her. . . .

Her consciousness raced down the tunnel at many times the speed of light, but before her disoriented mind could comprehend what was happening, she began to cough violently. Her first coherent thought was that she was drowning, and her arms began to flail about as the panic set in.

Soft hands reached out to intercept them, and to hold her upright. In the background, a soothing voice repeatedly admonished her to open her eyes and take deep, rhythmic breaths.

Anthia Six was experiencing resurrection for the first time, and her second coherent thought was that she didn't like it at all. The sensation of drowning was far too real.

She opened her eyes, to see an Eight leaning over the edge of the vat, her expression filled with concern. The nurse was running her fingers through Anthia's flaming red-gold locks, trying to keep her calm.

"It will be all right, sister; just take your time, and it will be all right."

Wide-eyed, Anthia twisted to the right, catching sight of the Six for the first time. It was her seductive voice that had been coaxing Anthia back to life. She was wearing a simple tunic, the color of spun gold, and her blue eyes were large, luminous, and worried.

"I downloaded," Anthia breathed. Her mind was still trying to grapple with the fact that she had come back from the dead.

"That's right," a Three said as she walked out of the darkness into the small circle of light that enclosed the vat. "But we only have three more husks for your particular model, so don't make a habit of it."

. . .

"Are you all right," the Six asked anxiously. Her eyes, so large and luminous, were filled with worry. "You seem much worse than yesterday."

"I'm faking it," Eric whispered as he rolled his head to the side and drank in her beauty. "The doc came by about half an hour ago on his morning rounds. I wanted to make sure that he didn't throw me out before you came in. But now that you're here, I'm going to make a miraculous recovery."

"I'm glad, but you're only delaying the inevitable. Beds are in short supply; as soon as she decides that you are no longer in danger, Three will …"

"Three will what? Discharge me?"

"Yes."

"I guess that you haven't heard the news. Two more hybrid babies were born last night. One of the women didn't want her baby, so D'Anna and the doc adopted him. Right now, she's walking on air. I flat out guarantee you that Eric Lackey and a certain blond-haired angel of mercy … um … let's just say that we're the farthest thing from her mind. Besides, everyone's getting ready for the dedication ceremony."

Six looked at him blankly.

"Don't you keep up with current events? At ten o'clock this morning, President Baltar will officially declare our new hospital open for business. It's a big deal, Six. Hospitals, schools … this stuff is important."

"I'll have to take your word for it." Six idly ran her fingernails up and down his arm, which in turn caused shivers to run up and down Eric Lackey's spine. "When you come right down to it," she sighed, "I don't know very much about humans, or what's important to you. People keep telling me that I'm just a machine, and apparently not a very intelligent one. I don't have a moral compass, which means that I can't tell right from wrong …"

"All you need is the right teacher; then, you'll be fine."

"But where will I find him? There's nothing special about me. I'm just one more Six, indistinguishable from the thousands of other copies living in the settlement."

"At the moment, I'd say that you really stand out!" Eric fingered her simple cotton dress, with its distinctive red stripes, and looked up at her sympathetically.

"I used to like red," Six confessed; "the color favored me. But this …"

"Hey, you'd look good wearing a burlap sack, and I'm not just saying that. It's the truth."

"Thank you, Eric; you're kind to me."

"Now for today's first lesson … put your palm on my forehead, and see whether I'm running a fever."

The Six complied, but she had no data to serve as a reference point, and freely admitted it.

"Yeah, I should have thought of that. Well, never mind. Why don't you try taking my pulse?"

He had to demonstrate what he meant, and in the process Eric made discoveries of his own.

"Your skin is so cool," he marveled, "and so smooth … almost like marble. Yet it warms so quickly to the touch. You're amazing. Everything about you is perfect … absolutely perfect. How ugly we must all seem to you, with our warts and our wrinkles." He allowed his hand to fall away.

The Six looked silently down at Eric Lackey while she pondered her reply. In the Colonies, some of her sisters had been forced to participate in the intricate verbal dance that the humans called small talk. They were, after all, spies and saboteurs, and they could not afford to arouse suspicion. But as an overseer, Six had remained inside the collective, hence had never been required to master such petty skills.

_If this human had been captured after the attack, his fate would have been fixed. He would have been taken to one of the breeding farms, and there an automated machine would have milked his sperm on a daily basis. Or perhaps he would have been one of the favored few … one of the slaves set aside to service us. He's certainly handsome enough, and he seems compliant. With the proper training, he should prove an excellent mate._

"You are superior to us in one very important way. It is something which we all envy."

"And what would that be?"

"You're alive."

"Huh? Six, what in the name of Zeus are you talking about? You are most definitely alive!"

"No, Eric, I'm not … not really. You feel what … what I can only perceive. I am a very sophisticated machine. I can walk and talk, reason … make decisions and act upon them. I can do many things, but I am still a machine."

"I beg to differ. You're flesh and bone, and I can feel the blood flowing through your veins. Sure, we're born with a capacity for feeling, but some people go their whole lives and never fall in love. Six, you have to experience it before you can feel it!"

"Among ourselves, we talk endlessly about love. The Twos and the Eights strongly believe that it is a door through which we must all pass if we are to evolve … become more human." Six reached down to clasp the handsome, young Sagittaron's fingers. She gently kneaded the back of his hand with her thumb. "We Sixes are less sure."

"But you're open-minded on the subject?"

"Yes. I would like to know love … to experience it and feel it. Sometimes, when I project … what you call daydreaming? I imagine that I'm cradling my child in my arms. I look down at this new life, born of my body, and I feel _something_."

"That's love, Six; that's exactly what love feels like. Don't try to define it … don't even try to describe it. 'Cause, believe me, we've tried. In songs … poetry … novels … we've penned gazillions of words on the subject, and we're no closer to the answer now than when we started … which is, like, thousands of years ago. That's gotta tell you something!"

"But how can you tell the difference between love and … and … desire? Is that the right word? I want to have sex with you. Does this mean that I love you?"

"No," Eric replied with a blush. "It means that we're attracted to each other. Physical attraction … well, it's a part of the story- a big part- but it's not the whole of it. You can be attracted to someone you don't like very much; so, yeah, you want to frak them, but then you don't ever want to see them again."

Eric glanced furtively around the ward. There were no doctors or nurses in evidence, so he hauled himself up into a sitting position. Six was now close … _so … close_. He stared deep into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze so overpowering that Six literally held her breath.

"Is that who you are, Six—the love 'em and leave 'em type?" His voice had fallen off to a sunken whisper. "Are you just toying with me for your own amusement?"

For answer, Six closed the tiny distance that separated them, and kissed Eric Lackey. She knew that the marines who accompanied her everywhere were watching, but she didn't care. Their opinions didn't count. Nor did she worry about nurses and orderlies: they would either intervene, or they wouldn't. Her fate was in God's hands.

Sub-routine after sub-routine began to kick in, and Six had to fight back in an effort to maintain some semblance of self-control. Humiliating Gage and Vireem in _Galactica's_ brig had always brought her pleasure, but not once had she considered using the vermin who had raped and tortured Gina to put an end to her increasing sexual frustration. Now, she had gone far too long without sex. She didn't want to love Eric Lackey … she wanted to ravage him. She was mad with lust, but she understood that attacking her patient would not only frighten him away but also get her sent back to her cell. It might even get her boxed. The thought of permanent death, which was never far from mind, terrified Six.

Her kiss was devoid of passion, or nearly so. She had an abstract understanding of tenderness, but did not know how to communicate it. She could only try to mimic what she had found in the stream, where Caprica Six had deposited all that Gaius Baltar had aroused within her. She would have to rely on Eric Lackey's own imagination … allow his needs to fill in the gaps and make good her mistakes.

She felt his hand come to rest upon the back of her neck, felt it press down upon her flesh, freezing the moment.

"_Oh, Six," _she heard him breathe in a voice filled with wonder; _"gods, but you are so beautiful."_

_I can do this, _she kept telling herself. _I can do this. I can make him want me … love me. And I won't hurt you, Eric. I'll keep you safe. When it's all over, I'll see to it that you're spared. I'll claim you as my mate, and the others will have no choice but to agree. It's the cylon way …_

_Gods, how can we be together if she's going to be locked up in a cell for the next two years? There's got to be something that I can do … something …_

. . .

"Sister, we found your body early this morning. The damage was … extensive." Caprica Six was trying to be diplomatic. "At approximately the same hour five men, each of them apparently affiliated with the Sons of Ares, received emergency medical treatment. Four of them required hospitalization. Is there a connection?"

"Can I plead ignorance? Claim that I never left my tent last night?" Anthia regretted that she had not been able to recover her body before the police arrived on the scene.

"No, I guess not," she went on when she saw the look on Caprica's face.

"You might be able to come up with a plausible explanation for Dino's presence," Erin Mathias mildly commented as she studied the diminutive gangster standing quietly in the background, "but you're going to have to get really creative if you want us to overlook the day care center that's suddenly sprung up out there. Most of the … uh … women who work for my wife? They now seem to be camped within twenty meters of this tent. And as for their kids … since when did Sixes take such an intense interest in runny human noses?"

Anthia spread her hands in a gesture of surrender, and glanced swiftly over her shoulder at Dino Panattes. She didn't know what if anything she was supposed to divulge, and she was hoping that the Guatrau's top enforcer would give her a hint.

Dino minutely nodded his head, which Anthia understood to mean that she should just go ahead and tell the truth.

_Interesting,_ Mathias concluded. She had caught the silent exchange between the human and the Cylon. _Six is pushing Anthia and Dino together. I wonder what my wife's up to this time?_

"The Sons of Ares are trying to expand their territory," Anthia explained. "They want to take over prostitution, and they're using threats against the children as leverage."

"At the moment, exactly who controls what?" Caprica ignored Anthia; she directed her question to Dino Panattes.

"The Sons of Ares have a monopoly on drug trafficking. We control prostitution and gambling. Alcohol, cigarettes, and other high value commodities are the currency of the marketplace, and no one controls the trade. It's a completely free market. There are a few bit players—you know … religious crazies like the Sagittaron Brotherhood? But so far the nut cases have stuck to their own neighborhood, so we give 'em a pass."

"Has Carlotti lost his mind?" Mathias couldn't believe that anyone in the settlement would be stupid enough to threaten a child … not after what had happened to Eric Phelan.

"You got me," Dino agreed. "We thought everyone understood that kids are out of bounds. The centurions are loyal to Kara and John, and we all know how Bierns feels about kids. When he finds out what's going on, he'll let the centurions use the Sons of Ares for target practice."

"But that's just the point," Anthia observed. "John's not here, and in a few days he and Kara will both be gone. Someone has to take control of the centurions in their absence. Caprica, you're our chief of police—it should be you."

"We can't use centurions to patrol the streets," Mathias protested; "our people aren't ready for that, and who can blame them? The last time that we unleashed the centurions to fight our battles, things didn't turn out so well."

"Erin's right," Caprica agreed. "When they get out of the hospital, I'm going to put the men who attacked Anthia under round the clock surveillance. I want to know where they go, and whom they see. The Sons of Ares must be manufacturing hard drugs, but I don't want to move against them until we can roll up the whole of their operation. There's a cell on the _Astral Queen_ with Enzo Carlotti's name on it."

"You got any problems with our operation," Dino asked her bluntly.

"People love to gamble, and it was legal in the Colonies, so reopening the chancery on the _Arethusa _seems like a good idea. Just keep it honest."

"Confining prostitution to a single district would ease our manpower problems," Mathias tactfully suggested. "Right now, our response times are lagging, and that's encouraging assaults. It would help a lot if we could rely on your people to keep their own house in order."

"If the Sixes agree to the current arrangement, we're good with it." Dino had manpower problems of his own—a weakness that the Sons of Ares had been able to exploit far too effectively for his liking. Concentrating the working girls in a single location would dramatically reduce the amount of turf that he had to defend … and Six would definitely be pleased if some of her sisters could be enticed to go on the game.

"Anthia, what do you think?" Red-light districts had been common enough in the Colonies, but the Sixes had sex on the brain, and Erin Mathias suspected that they wouldn't respond well to professional competition. "For all intents and purposes, we're talking about putting up a brothel right outside your tent. How would your sisters react to having someone like Shevon for a neighbor?"

"For most of us, it would be a learning experience … an opportunity to watch mothers interact with their children. And we would also like to improve our understanding of the human male. His physical needs are obvious, but Caprica has repeatedly told us that his emotional needs are even greater." Anthia nodded in her sister's direction. "She has continually urged us to study something called male insecurity at first hand. Is it true that men who pay for sex have little self-confidence, and fear commitment?"

That brought an enigmatic smile to Dino Panattes' lips. He wasn't about to tell his potential girlfriend that a surprisingly large number of men sought out prostitutes because they wanted sex without the emotional entanglements that even the most casual of relationships entailed. He wanted to share his bed with Anthia, but he had absolutely no intention of admitting her into his torn and tattered soul.

"You might want to have a talk with Larissa Karanis," Mathias volunteered; "nurses see men at their most vulnerable, and have a good feel for their deepest fears. But don't minimize Shevon's expertise, or that of any of the other call-girls out there. They're all master psychologists. Generally speaking, it's not sex that turns a customer into a client. A man like Lee Adama wants someone to hold his hand and listen to his problems. He needs to hear that his life has meaning and worth. What the Shevons of this world are really selling is a sense of hope."

"Six, what the sergeant is saying is that your average guy …"

Dino never got to finish his thought because a breathless James Lyman chose that moment to burst into Anthia's tent. He walked straight up to Caprica Six.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but I thought you should know. Doc Cottle decided not to wait for the official opening; he's already receiving patients in the new hospital."

"He's upstaging the President?" Caprica Six was taken by surprise, but only for a moment. Sherman Cottle wasn't long on ceremony at the best of times, and he would never let it interfere with his patients' needs.

"I'm not really sure, Ma'am. Giana O'Neill has gone into labor; in fact, she's having her baby right now. That's pretty symbolic, don't you think? I mean … a human woman giving birth to a hybrid baby with a cylon physician who just happens to be the husband and father in the delivery room? It's like a message from the gods, or something."

"You're right, Jammer." Caprica Six treated her young human subordinate to her most dazzling smile. "It's definitely a message from on high!"

. . .

"You should savor this moment, Gaius."

"I am," Baltar sighed with satisfaction. "You have no frakking idea how much I'm savoring it." With his head buried between Tory Foster's legs, Gaius was currently on the ego trip to end all ego trips. Tory was incredibly sensitive; the slightest touch of his tongue sufficed to summon another moan from deep in her throat.

Tory squinted down at Gaius, and ran her fingers affectionately through his hair. "That's not what I meant, _Mister President_, and you know it!" Her back arched, and her mouth opened wide as Gaius once again found the spot.

"Oh, don't tell me … you conducted another snap poll, and now I'm more popular than ever." His tongue was making slow circles around Tory's nub. She had already had two mind-blowing orgasms, but Gaius was on a roll, and he wasn't about to relent.

"Precisely," she managed to groan. "You cut the ribbon, and two hours later another hybrid baby enters the world. The Gemenese and the Sagittarons are convinced that you're the chosen instrument of God or the gods … take your pick. Anyway, they're beginning to see the hand of Providence everywhere."

"Who cares? They were already my biggest fans …"

"True," Tory interrupted. "But the Cancerons and the Taurons are now beginning to buy into the myth of The Chosen One as well. _Gods, don't stop,"_ she hissed.

"That's odd. Zenobia, the hybrid on Sharon's baseship … she used to call me The Chosen One. I was flattered, and she certainly aroused my curiosity, but in the end I decided that she was wrong. Bierns has to be The Chosen One. He certainly fits the part."

"And we'll never convince the Cylons otherwise. _Ooh … aw … oh, that's good … that's good. _But our people … most of them don't want to believe that … _aw … aw_ … that the gods would send a half-breed to lead us out of the wilderness. _Oh, that's good. Oh _… they need The Chosen One to be human."

"Any … way," Tory panted, "here's the deal. In the future, when we do public events? I want you to have a Three on one arm and a priestess on the other. Briseis would be my first choice. She's devout, and she's photogenic, which guarantees us good press. Gaius, when it comes to religion, the trick is to try and be all-inclusive without actually offending anyone."

"Have you run this by Sharon?"

"Not yet. Frankly, I'm dreading our next conversation."

"Why? We both rely on you, Tory. Surely, you must realize that."

"Gaius, there's something I have to tell you … something I only confirmed earlier this afternoon, though I've been pretty sure for several days now. I wish … gods, I honestly don't know what I wish!"

Baltar moved up to lie beside her. He kissed Tory tenderly on the lips, and then began to draw gentle circles around her navel.

Tory grasped his hand, and pressed it hard against her belly. She looked deep into Baltar's eyes, willing him to believe her.

"Gaius, I'm … I'm pregnant—and there hasn't been anyone else. I'm carrying your baby."

"Huh," Gaius exclaimed in wide-eyed but still feigned astonishment. "Aren't you using birth control?"

_Sharon's as good as her word,_ Baltar marveled. _She said that she'd make sure Tory got pregnant, and now it's happened! Incredible!_

"I'm on the pill, Gaius; I swear. I don't know how this happened, but the pill's not foolproof. It works ninety-nine percent of the time, but ninety-nine is not quite the same thing as a hundred."

"Tory, what are you going to do? _What do you want to do?_ I know that abortions are illegal now, but if that's what you want …"

"No, Gaius … _no_ … please," she said in a voice that rang with conviction; "I want to have our child. And I am not going to hide away from the world. You're the father, but if you want me publicly to deny it, I'll do so. I'll raise the baby on my own."

"No, you won't," Gaius fired back with equal conviction. "We'll work something out … and I won't let you face Sharon alone. We'll go to her … talk to her together. She may kill us both on the spot, or she may … hell, I don't know. I don't think anyone's ever cheated on a Cylon before, so who knows what she'll do?"

"What … when … when do you want to confront her?"

"Now's got to be as good a time as any," Gaius shrugged. "The Cylons are all celebrating Sherman O'Neill's birth, so at least we'll catch her in a good mood."

"I'll get dressed," Tory said as she climbed out of bed. "What do you think I should wear?"

"Something businesslike, I should imagine. But we both need to shower. Trust me, Tory: all Cylons have a keen sense of smell. If you'll pardon a very bad pun, we really don't want to rub Sharon's nose in it!"

. . .

Bruised and bleeding, D'Anna slowly dragged herself away from the altar upon which she had once more been offered up as a living sacrifice.

_How many times has it been now? Three … that's right; there've been three of these 'training sessions'. How clever my brothers are with words … how easily they dismiss gang rape as just another exercise in 'conditioning'._

The first Three had been stripped of everything except the collar locked around her neck. She had nothing with which to clothe herself—nothing except her faith in God, and her own sense of self-worth. Her determination to hold onto both was formidable.

It took time, but D'Anna finally reached the far corner of the chamber in which she had been imprisoned. The nude Eight was cowering there, squatting on her haunches; her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest, and she was shivering—but D'Anna could not tell whether she was responding to the bitter cold, or to the bad dreams that seemed to have taken root in the broken pathways of her mind.

Three raised her cuffed hands over her head, and swept the Eight into her arms. She used her greater strength forcibly to pull her younger sister away from the wall, and then held her close. The only warmth to be had was that generated by their bodies.

D'Anna knew that this was another calculated act of cruelty on Cavil's part. Destined to know human love, and proud of the fact that they had been selected physically to close the gap between man and machine, the Eights had rejected the sexual advances of their many brothers. Incest was a monstrous sin, they had repeatedly intoned—and in any event, they whispered, the Ones were old and repulsive.

_The Ones threw themselves on the Sixes, but Phryne and Secunda laughed in their faces. Phryne truly loved Daniel, and at the very least Secunda was infatuated with Leoben. Tertia preempted the Ones by seducing Aaron. How humiliating that must have been for John … he had to know that his sisters all loathed the Fives …_

D'Anna rested the unresisting Eight's head on her chest, and softly serenaded her with one of the lullabies that she had learned from Mama Ellen. Warm memories flooded her … kneeling on the deck, resting her head on her mother's thigh, listening to the beguiling words as Ellen brushed her hair with the treasured wooden brush that she had brought from the home world.

_I was always intervening to protect Sharon and Rebecca. Secunda and Tertia hated their names … hated the way the others mocked them as Six Point Two and Six Point Three. If only Mama Tory had been more careful about such things … if only Mama Ellen hadn't been so determined to pattern the Ones on someone who reminded her of her own father …_

As the eldest daughter, D'Anna had been preordained to play the peacemaker. The role came naturally to her, and she had always taken it seriously. Phryne and her siblings were capable of looking after themselves, but not so the Eights. Papa Saul had endlessly criticized them. Even now, she could still hear his voice, so stern and unforgiving, condemning the runts of the litter as weak—a mistake that needed to be rectified:

"_Ellen, they're not tough enough. What are they gonna do the first time some human calls them a bunch of machines? Why, they'll start crying their little eyes out, and then they'll pack their bags and run home to mother. Quit spoiling 'em … them and the Sevens both!"_

_But I ignored papa. I took care of the Eights, just the way mama taught me. I kept them safe from the Ones and the Fives while Phryne looked after Daniel …_

D'Anna buried her face in the Eight's silken hair, and began gently to rock her back and forth. There was little she could do for her lobotomized sister, but she had to try.

_The Cavils took their revenge on all of us. When they destroyed the Sevens, our parents did nothing but talk. Mama insisted that there was still good in the Ones, and her misguided sense of loyalty paralyzed the others. But, by then it was too late anyway. The centurions …_

D'Anna shuddered as the unwanted memory coursed through her synaptic relays. Three baseships had jumped in close, organic constructs whose design her parents had approved less than two months earlier. Thousands of slave troops had stormed the Colony, overwhelming its defenses. Although taken completely by surprise, the U-87's had contested every meter of every deck, buying time for the IL's to rally the 0005's, but speed and superior armor had given Cavil's forces incontestable advantages. A few of the IL's eventually stood down, saving both themselves and their troops—at which point the real slaughter had begun.

_We made our way to the lone corridor that linked the rest of the Colony to our parents' ship, but we had few weapons, and no knowledge of how to use them. The centurions showed no mercy. The corridor was clogged with our corpses, and our blood … it ran in rivers, streaming down into the ship. The screams of the dying went on and on and on, drowning out every other sound in the universe …_

D'Anna's thoughts turned once more to her son, and the fragile connection that she had labored so hard to establish with the tiny mind developing inside her womb. She had used his brain as a repository, a living stream within which she had stored the whole of her thoughts, feelings, and memories. The child's mind knew the full measure of her love, and equally of her hate. Her determination was his legacy. There was no guarantee that he would survive- not after what the monsters had done to Rebecca—but he would nonetheless become her sword and shield.

_Rebecca was the first … four months into the pregnancy, and just beginning to show. There was no warning given, no explanation tendered. John wordlessly sliced her open, removed the fetus, and dissected it right before our eyes. It was in that moment, when my own fate had at last become absolutely clear, that I began to love the child growing within me. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself before I could let go of my resentment, and I couldn't begin to fight back until I had fully accepted my fate. I gave my son three gifts: an abiding love of family; a burning need to destroy the Ones and all who serve them; and an unshakable faith in mama's vision of a blended society._

In the months that followed, the Ones had taunted D'Anna at every turn. They had pilloried her faith in God. They had belittled her parents for their ignorance and stupidity. They had graphically detailed the butchering of millions of humans on Kobol—a project that had given rise to a new and far more deadly generation of hybrids. She had filed it all away in her memory banks, and patiently transmitted it to her unborn child. If he lived, her son would one day bear witness to the seemingly endless parade of atrocity to which her brothers had proudly confessed.

_In the eighth month, they came for Sharon. She bled to death as the baby was torn from her womb—the little girl that my dear sister had always said she would one day bear. She had long planned to call her daughter Helena, and thus shall she be remembered, although the baby never cried and I cannot say with certainty that she ever took a single breath. God, in his mercy, perhaps claimed her soul before Cavil dissected her._

D'Anna pressed her body hard against the Eight's, trying to keep her warm. She understood that rage fueled the Ones, and that their thirst for revenge would never be satisfied. The Threes, the Sixes, the Eights … no amount of pain or humiliation would ever balance the Cavils' wounded egos, for the cuts had been far too deep.

_Phryne and I gave birth on the same day, first my son and then her daughter. The babies were both so beautiful, but we had not yet experienced the full measure of the Ones' cruelty. They literally stole the child from her mother's breast, and they forced Phryne to watch as John cut out her daughter's brain and dissected it. Then he turned the scalpel loose on my sister. I still don't know what it was about her placenta that so fascinated him. _

_In the days that followed, my faith in the One True God finally wavered. How, I repeatedly asked myself, could our Creator permit the most innocent of life to suffer so terribly at the hands of evil incarnate? I despaired for my son even as I nursed him at my breast, only to be granted the miracle for which I had so long prayed. Cavil had a use for my child, and so he would live, but he would also be forever marked. Forgive me, my son, for I chose not to spare you those last, terrible moments, when the surgical needle punched through your hand and plunged into my chest, our mingled cries of pain and rage ending only with the bullet that John fired into my brain. In my own way, I have branded you as well, haven't I? And it may well be that mine is the greater sin, for John left his mark upon your body, but my cry for vengeance has stained your soul._

Holding tight to the Eight, whose mind had been set adrift on a storm tossed sea, D'Anna Biers called up the subroutine that would allow her to drift off to sleep. She did not hear the terrible screams that, in a distant part of the ship, alone disturbed its oppressive silence.


	7. Chapter 7: The Last Supper

CHAPTER 7

THE LAST SUPPER

Romo Lampkin leaned back from the table with a contented sigh. Dax's may not have been the Hydria, his favorite restaurant on the ὁδόs Aδρiανoύ in little Tauron, but the fish was fresh and the chef knew what he was doing. Granted, the vegetables were still coming out of a can, but the aroma of bread freshly baking in the restaurant's outdoor oven sat Romo's mouth to watering every time he walked past. A medium dry white that he had obtained from the _Prometheus'_ well-stocked cellar had cost him a lot in professional IOU's, but he reckoned that it was well worth it.

Romo quietly studied his dinner companion. He had never crossed paths with Amelie Fordyce back in the Colonies, despite the fact that she had often been called upon to deliver expert testimony in the courtroom. He judged the clinical psychiatrist to be in her early forties, a good-looking woman rather than a beautiful one, with long, black hair that she had subtly highlighted with streaks of cobalt blue. What impressed him the most, however, was her striking self-confidence. It was obvious why counsel for both the prosecution and the defense had often sought her out in criminal trials: this was not a woman who would be intimidated during cross-examination. It didn't take a genius to recognize that so formidable an adversary would make for an equally formidable ally.

Throughout the meal, Romo had considered how to make his pitch. It would be easy to flatter Amelie Fordyce. The soft, sky blue sweater that she was wearing accentuated the loveliness of her hair, and the simple but expensive strand of pearls that graced her neck suggested a woman who valued elegance, but preferred it to be understated. He sensed, however, that even the most heartfelt compliment was likely to be viewed by this woman as a crudely manipulative gesture. Romo's professional instincts had told him to steer the conversation into a neutral harbor—his cat, her tent … _anything but the weather_. Twice, she had given him an appraising look, and he had caught a hint of bemusement in her eyes and in the slight curl of her lips. He couldn't easily charm a woman of such obvious intellect, and the role of jaded cynic into which he slipped so easily would only provoke impatience. He was stymied, but he thought that her demeanor showed some degree of sympathy for his plight. For a brief moment, Romo wondered what Amelie Fordyce thought of John Bierns. The spook was a complicated man, and Lampkin reckoned that the good doctor would eagerly hand over a year's salary just for the opportunity to get the CSS agent onto her couch.

"I wouldn't have expected you to move in with the Eights," he finally remarked. It was still a neutral observation, but it did serve gently to turn the conversation in the right direction.

"Why," she asked in return. Amelie's tent was near _Colonial One_, but no one had remarked that it also put her within shouting distance of the Agathons. She wanted to carry out a long-term study of the hybrid children, and as the oldest, Hera was the logical place to start. But the infant was surrounded by Sharons, and one of the unintended consequences of Amelie's decision to move into their neighborhood was that she now found herself informally counseling the Eights on the many contradictory impulses that shaped the male personality.

"I would have thought that you would prefer to be closer to the hospital," Romo thoughtfully responded, "or to the jail. Your work must take you to both with some frequency."

_And I have seven clients sitting in cells, whose fate will ultimately rest in your hands._

"Our professions operate a bit differently, Mr. Lampkin. Hospitals are depressing, and jails make people tense and uncomfortable. Patients find my tent welcoming in no small part because it's far removed from such public spaces."

_We both know that you want to talk about the Sixes, but at this rate it will take us all night to get there. I suppose the time has come for me to speed things up._

"That was a wonderful meal, Mr. Lampkin, and you have been a gracious host. Would you join me in a glass of ambrosia? I feel like celebrating tonight."

Romo quickly summoned the waiter, and when they had drinks in hand, raised his to offer a toast. And then he paused—rather too dramatically for Amelie's liking.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I don't know what it is we're celebrating."

"One of our mutual clients is working in the hospital, and Six seems quite taken with one of her patients … a _very _handsome young Sagittaron with some pretty unorthodox views. The young man in question seems to be equally smitten. He checked out in mid-afternoon, but he returned at the end of her shift to walk her back to the jail. I'm told," Amelie smiled, "that they were arm in arm the whole way, and that you could have lit up an entire city block with the electricity that they were generating. My next session with Six should be most interesting. If it goes as well as I anticipate, I plan to invite them both to a group that I'm forming for mixed couples. We're seeing more of these every day, and we need to make sure that the young people are communicating outside the bedroom, not just in it."

"Law and psychiatry both seem to be very much in demand these days," Romo acknowledged. "But who would have ever guessed that the two of us would end up with Cylons for clients? Who knows, Doctor … at some point in the future I may be scrambling to defend a Cylon on trial as a serial killer, and I'll need to summon you to testify as our resident expert in their psychology." He stated hard at the table, and inched closer to one of the space heaters that held the cold and damp in the makeshift restaurant at bay. "I certainly could have used your insights during this trial because my clients puzzled me from start to finish. In my universe, the people charged with heinous crimes tend to be guilty of something, even if they're innocent of the particular charge being brought against them. But the Sixes … to them 'crime' is a meaningless concept … literally nothing more than an entry in the dictionary. I never got through to them. Are you faring any better?"

"Laura Roslin agreed to take one of them on as a teaching assistant in her elementary school. Six is being mentored by a very bright young woman named Maya, and I'm monitoring her progress, or lack thereof, closely. But four of them are working in the fields, and a fifth is becoming intimately acquainted with the garbage masher on the _Demetrius_. They don't have much opportunity to interact with humans, and therein lays the problem. I need to place them in environments where they have no choice but to work in teams, but where they also get a chance to socialize. Do you have any suggestions?"

"How about assigning them to Colonel Phillips? His work details put in long hours, and they could use the extra manpower. Sixes are supposed to be good at maintenance, and a shovel's still a shovel no matter where you wield it."

Amelie nodded unconsciously in agreement. "A strong work ethic … a genuine sense of camaraderie … yes … I agree. Our Sixes would definitely benefit from prolonged exposure to a military unit with such pronounced esprit de corps."

"And the engineers have been working with Cylons nonstop ever since the evacuation of Picon," Romo added. "Having a few more Sixes hanging around the premises probably wouldn't bother them very much."

"Not at all, I should think," Amelie concurred. "Lieutenant Jacobs certainly doesn't appear to have had any adjustment problems."

"Marc is one of the colonel's junior officers," she added when she saw the blank look on Lampkin's face. "He's moved in with Sharon and Philista Liu, and he seems to be as much at ease around his Cylon partner as his human."

"Do you know _everything_ that's going on in New Caprica City?" Romo kept his ear close to the ground, but Amelie Fordyce struck him as astonishingly well informed.

"Let's put it this way," Amelie countered with a polite laugh. "The Eights are swarming all over this settlement, and nothing gets past them. They confide in me, and in return I teach them about what to expect from the male half of the species. Mr. Lampkin, you have undoubtedly recognized that most of the Sharons are too trusting for their own good. In retrospect, we can all see that their innocence made it easy for the Cavils to exploit them. I don't want the wolves in our midst to victimize them a second time."

"Amen," Romo intoned—and then he raised his glass to offer another toast. "Here's to bright and shiny futures—for all of us, and for our few surviving feline friends."

Now it was Amelie's turn to look confused.

"Rats go wherever we go," Romo explained; "and right now, they're feasting on our garbage. Perhaps you haven't noticed, Doctor, but the problem is rapidly spinning out of control. And my cat," he said more or less as an afterthought, "is getting disgustingly fat."

. . .

Sharon Baltar glanced over the top of one of the many piles of paper that littered the President's desk. She felt increasingly under siege. As soon as she worked her way to the bottom of one mound, an aide would sweep the curtain aside and stroll in with a still more imposing stack to take its place. Even for a Cylon, the pace was brutal—but more importantly, it was unrelenting. A new crisis seemed to pop up every twenty minutes or so, and every human delegate to the Quorum needed to have his or her ego stroked on at least a daily basis. Worse yet, many of the demands that the people at large were making upon their fledgling government struck her as palpably absurd.

"Billy, get in here!"

Billy Keikeya hurried into the chamber, took one look at the de facto president, and grabbed a chair. It had turned into one of those days.

Sharon eyed the document in her hand with visible distaste, and passed it across to the press secretary. "How," she inquired, "did _that _make it to this desk?"

Billy studied the crumpled piece of paper, which bore the letterhead of the newly formed Colonial Workers Alliance.

"It's a list of demands," he said mildly. "Better working conditions, pay and benefits … the usual sort of thing. The language is inflammatory, but that's to be expected."

"Why wasn't this routed to Wallace Gray? He's in charge of industrial policy."

"It was, but the Minister believes that negotiating with a militant labor union falls under the heading of politics, and he's not willing to meet with Xeno Fenner until President Baltar issues guidelines for collective bargaining."

"In short, he's passing the cubit."

"Yes, but with good reason. Sharon, it's imperative that people get back to work, but the President has yet to present the Quorum with an economic blueprint. Are we going to return to a monetized economy, or will compensation take some other form? Wally doesn't want to sit down and talk with Chief Fenner until we have a framework in place."

"I see. Is there anything here that we can concede in order to buy my husband more time?"

Billy reviewed the union leader's manifesto, and slowly shook his head. "Not really. The way this reads, you'd think that we were still back in the Colonies, and that nothing's changed. We could offer to exempt people doing heavy labor from the lottery … make getting them into apartments a priority … but that's as far as I'd be willing to go at this time."

"Then invite Mr. Fenner to come by in the morning, but don't schedule an appointment. I want this to be an informal meeting … nothing promised in writing. I also want to see Reza Chronides sometime tomorrow afternoon. She can have her Mithraeum … we'll even provide the building material. But I'll make it clear that her followers will have to put the temple up by themselves."

"Sarah Porter won't be happy about this," Billy warned.

"No, she won't … but we need to put her and D'Anna in their place. It's true that we couldn't have won the election without them, but Gaius and I are tired of the daily reminders, and our sense of gratitude is exhausted. Sarah Porter does not run this government, and turning down her application while simultaneously approving Reza's may just drive the point home."

"But you have to admit that D'Anna's design for the cathedral …"

"…is truly inspired. I've been inside D'Anna's projection. The soaring columns, the stained glass, the light wells … it's all truly inspired. But if we abandoned every other project it would still take two years to complete, and the end result would be a crushing disappointment because the nebula refracts so much of the available light. The One True God deserves something better than a damp, dark, and gloomy house of worship."

"So, a more modest project with a more realistic design …"

"Gaius will take a less grandiose design straight to the Quorum, and it will be approved unanimously."

"How do you want me to set up the appointment schedule? Do you want to see Sarah and D'Anna before or after Reza?"

"Before," Sharon said decisively. "I want the news that we've rejected Porter's petition to be all over the marketplace before we sign off on the Mithraeum. Send some of our people over there to spread the word while Sarah's busy lecturing me on how much clout the Gemenese voting bloc possesses. Wait two hours, and then have our operatives start publicly praising Reza Chronides to the skies."

"That's pretty devious. Reza may not be Gemenese, but most of the Mithrasaries are. Sarah will inevitably see this as an attempt on your part to split the monotheists into competing doctrinal camps, which would weaken her influence considerably."

"And since Cylons are supposed to be devious by nature, Miss Porter will probably start asking herself how many other nasty surprises may be lurking out there in the weeds. If we can cut her down to size, she'll be easier to work with in the future."

"Sharon, are you sure that you didn't intern with President Adar?" Billy got up to leave, but he couldn't suppress one of his trademark grins.

_No, Billy,_ the First Lady thought sadly; _my capacity for deceit is but one small part of my inheritance from the Cavils._

Sharon picked up another memorandum. In big, bold letters, this one was marked URGENT, and it had also come straight to her desk from Wallace Gray's.

_From: Wallace Gray, Minister for Economic Development_

_To: Dr. Gaius Baltar, President of the Colonies_

_Subject: Paper Shortage_

_Mr. President:_

_As you are no doubt aware, there is a severe paper shortage on the ground and in the fleet, and the crisis is rapidly escalating. Central planning in this and other government offices has been interrupted due to the lack of this critical resource, and the implementation of several vital projects has been delayed because we do not have the means with which to keep the necessary records._

_This office strongly recommends that the President issue an executive order directing the military to begin immediate construction of a paper mill on a site downstream from the settlement, but at a distance of not more than three kilometers. There are several large stands of usable timber to the north and east of the settlement, and we further recommend that the centurions be organized into work battalions for the express purpose of harvesting this timber and transporting it to the mill. Environmental impact statements for the affected areas will be forthcoming as soon as we have paper in sufficient quantity to complete the studies._

Sharon Baltar leaned back in her chair, and surveyed her tiny fiefdom. The "offices" to which Wallace Gray referred were nothing more than a series of desks scattered across _Colonial One_—and she intended to keep it that way. Quarrelsome and self-absorbed Quorum members were bad enough, but a bloated bureaucracy would be infinitely worse. Arcane regulations were as much a threat to freedom as any telencephalic inhibitor …

_And besides, _she silently raged, _there is no paper shortage! It's all sitting on my desk!_

. . .

"So, are the rumors true? Are you shipping out with Natalie?"

The Liu household had settled into a daily routine, and Philista's early evening stroll through the warren of tents and apartments that made up the settlement was an important part of it. She had developed a network of trading partners, and she had moved well beyond simple barter. Philista was perpetually on the lookout for a good deal, but her thinking was increasingly oriented to services rather than goods. Her hardworking husband- for that was how she already thought of Marc Jacobs- knew more about plumbing than anyone on the planet, and his expertise was in constant demand. As an officer in the 3654th, Marc worked eight hours a day, six days a week, installing showers and toilets in the apartment buildings that were going up all over New Caprica City, but the units were modular in design, and the government planners had only signed off on one fixture per household. A lot of people, however_, just had to have a second toilet, _and this was where Sharon and Philista came in. Philista's absolutely gorgeous and superhot Cylon wife had somehow managed to persuade the centurions to help her dismantle much of the plumbing on her baseship, and she had borrowed a Heavy Raider to move her purloined treasure down to the planet. Philista had made a sincere and truly noble attempt to lecture Sharon about stealing, but she had got absolutely nowhere, and had eventually given up. Belatedly, she had come to the realization that the concept of private property meant nothing to any of the Eights, who simply helped themselves to whatever they wanted.

_And that includes men,_ Philista reminded herself. _So, while I'm wandering around out here brokering Marc's free time, Sharon is busily pleasuring him … doing anything she has to do, really, to make sure that he won't take an interest in another Eight or, God forbid, in a Six!_

The black market ruled New Caprica City, and the Sixes had earned a reputation for being notoriously sharp traders. Indeed, it was by observing them at work that Philista had first sensed the true value of Marc's skills. One of the blond-haired infiltrators had worked in downtown Caprica City for two years as an on-call masseuse, and her clients had included some of the most powerful and knowledgeable men in government. Now, she was putting strong hands and a wealth of experience to more personally profitable use, and her business was flourishing.

_Of course, massages aren't the only thing on offer in that particular tent … but as long as Six keeps her grubby paws off Marc, I don't really care what she gets up to. After all, men who know how to work with their hands are in short supply around here, and the competition is fierce. It's feeding time at the zoo, and it's up to Sharon and me to make sure that Marc stays off the dinner table._

"Yes," Hoshi confirmed; "Commander Six has asked me to serve as her XO, and the Admiral agreed to my transfer. Almost four hundred of our friends have volunteered for this mission, and several dozen of them will be bringing their … uh … significant Cylon others along as well."

"Meaning," Philista giggled, "that the Sharons aren't about to let their men out of their sight!"

"Well, there are a few Sixes in the mix, but you're right … we're mostly dealing with Eights here. I must say, they do seem rather possessive, don't they?"

"Possessive … _and jealous_," Philista agreed. "Once an Eight gets her claws in, any human woman would be well advised to keep her distance. Take my word for it—neither the One True God nor the Lords of Kobol would want to tangle with an enraged Eight."

"I wonder if Natalie knows that she's about to take command of a soap opera," Hoshi sighed. "Only a handful of Twos and Threes are coming along, so if what you're saying is true, things on board could get a little … heated."

"Honestly, Colonel, I don't know how you managed to fend off the Sharon who staked a claim to you on the baseship."

"She died," Louis said tersely. He vividly remembered the moment when Aaron Doral, seething with jealousy, had shot her in the head … remembered the explosion of brains … remembered grabbing a knife and stabbing the Five to death.

"I just hope that she resurrected," he added. "Every night, I pray to the gods on her behalf."

"Hosh, to answer your question, I haven't said a word to anybody about Kobol … not even Sharon." Everybody on _Pegasus_ had been aware of Hoshi's sexual orientation, so it surprised Philista to learn that the Eight had somehow got inside his defenses. She abruptly returned to the subject that had brought her fellow officer to see her in the first place.

"Good," Hoshi answered; "and I want to keep it that way. Neither the President nor the Admiral is in the loop, so I'm making the rounds, making sure that everybody understands the need for absolute secrecy."

"You can count on me, Colonel—mum's still the word."

. . .

"Eight, you must eat; even Cylons require nourishment."

D'Anna awkwardly gripped the spoon in her cuffed hands, and raised its unappetizing contents to her sister's lips. The porridge was cold and full of lumps, an affront to tongue and eye alike; indeed, it was only with a supreme effort of will that D'Anna could force herself to eat from the bowl. The Eight had so far ignored the gruel, but Three understood that it was not because she found it offensive. The Ones had shaved her sister's heuristic responses down to the point where, left to her own devices, she would have starved to death.

"You'll have better luck if you call her Sharon," Cavil remarked. He dragged a chair into the chamber, made himself comfortable, and donned his favorite pair of dark glasses. The glare from the overhead lights was intense.

"How much of her neural architecture have you damaged," D'Anna asked. She did not even bother to glance in John's direction.

"Oh, that's hardly necessary," Cavil smirked. "We actually have a lot of experience at this sort of thing. All we had to do was tweak a few lines of code here and there, and our dear brothers and sisters forgot all about both their creators and the Sevens. And best of all, despite the gaping holes in their memories, they're happy as clams. The programming that controls basic physical functions is just as easy to edit, although I will confess that getting everything just right is still a matter of trial and error."

"Then why don't you restore some of Sharon's motor skills? What's the point of punishing her this way if she doesn't even know that you're here?"

"What? And deprive you of the pleasure of taking care of her? Really, Three, I expected you to be more grateful. Remember, I've seen how much you like to look after babies. Well, here's the chance to hone your skills."

"If the collective is so content with your leadership," D'Anna fired back, "how did this civil war of yours ever get started? Could it be that the others won't settle for being the best machines in the history of the universe? Did you finish up on the losing side of a vote of no confidence?"

"Yep … that's exactly what happened. And since I'm not one to pound square pegs into round holes, I've conceded defeat. The Sixes and Eights want to have kids, so I'm going to accommodate them. Of course, we'll harvest some of them for our own purposes …"

"You really are sick …"

"Sharon, do you miss Colonel Hoshi? Do you want him back?" Cavil was grinning malevolently.

"_Louis," _Sharon sighed, her eyes blinking rapidly.

"Do you want to have a baby with the dashing young colonel? Well, don't fret, my dear; we'll catch up with him in due course, and this time you won't have to take 'no' for an answer! This time, you'll have your way with him."

"_Louis …"_

"You see, Three? Sharon's present unhappiness stems from a single, festering wound. I've given her one goal … one purpose … and that's to heal the wound. That's all it will take to make her a productive and contented member of the collective."

"John, I used to think that you suffered from delusions of grandeur. But I was wrong. You're insane."

Cavil got up, and signaled one of the centurions to remove the chair. "Enjoy your dinner, Three. Some of my brothers are planning on coming by later this evening to spend a little quality time with you. Do entertain them properly."

. . .

Like thieves in the night, Tory and Gaius crept through _Colonial One_, both of them relieved to discover that the cabins were dark and deserted. Even Billy Keikeya had gone home. But the lights were still on in the President's office, and the two lovers knew that they would find Sharon Baltar at Gaius' desk, hard at work shuffling the mountains of paper without which a government seemed unable to function.

Gaius glanced to his left as he entered his office, making note of the centurion standing motionless and silent in his accustomed spot. The lone red eye had scanned him when he crossed the threshold, as it scanned every visitor to this sanctum. The machine was so reliable that Gaius was seriously toying with the idea of transferring his four bodyguards to the police department, or dismissing them from government service altogether.

Sharon was sitting right where Gaius expected to find her, but he was surprised to see one of the Threes lurking at her shoulder. His wife was holding a photograph in each hand, her eyes darting back and forth between them. She was obviously upset.

_Oh, frak,_ Tory thought. _If those are what I think they are, Sharon will feed us to the centurions!_

Tory had used government credits to purchase a miniaturized video camera from one of the reporters in the press pool. She had hidden the machine inside a vent that overlooked her bed, and she had used it to film the first of her romps with the President. The film, which was concealed in a coffee pot in her kitchen, left nothing to the imagination. To be sure, she had never seriously considered blackmailing Baltar …

_I just wanted the film for insurance … that's all … in case Sharon or Gaius ever decided that they could dispense with my services …_

"Tory … Gaius … I'm glad that you're here." Sharon stood up, the photos still in hand. "D'Anna has just come from the hospital. A three month old baby was admitted tonight; this is just terrible."

Sharon handed each of them a photo. Baltar took one look, and the blood began to drain from his face. Tory flinched, and turned her head away. She had to fight hard to keep from throwing up.

"_What in the name of the gods,"_ she finally whispered. The whole left side of the baby's face had been viciously mutilated, and there was a bloody trail leading down from the now empty eye socket. The baby's left arm was a mass of bite marks, and two fingers appeared to be missing.

"According to the mother," D'Anna reported in a steady monotone, "the baby was fast asleep in a bassinet at the foot of her cot. After dinner, the woman left her alone while she went off to barter with her neighbors. She knits- heavy socks, mittens, scarves- and she trades her wares for food and firewood. When she returned to her tent, there were rats in the bassinet. They were feasting on the child."

Baltar blindly sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. He was suddenly finding it difficult to focus.

"Mr. President," D'Anna went on, "this is not the first such incident. Over the last four days, rats foraging for food in packs have attacked three small children while they were out playing. Several adults have also been bitten. My husband has been treating everyone with broad-spectrum antibiotics, but he is justifiably concerned about an outbreak of one or more forms of the plague. If that were to happen in so small a community …"

"All the drugs in the world wouldn't be of much use," Gaius finished for the Three. "We would be looking at a potential ELE … an extinction level event." The President struggled to pull himself together. "Have any Cylons been exposed?"

"Not yet."

"If it happens, isolate the victim immediately … total quarantine."

"Gaius, we have to get on top of this," Sharon intervened. She was thinking of the babies whom she would soon deliver, and how vulnerable they would be to such predators. "Is it true that every ship in the fleet has at least one cat on board?"

"Yes," Baltar confirmed. "No matter how far back you go in time, you'll find captains of seagoing vessels relying upon felines to keep the rats at bay. But there's a problem: the female of the species is the more adept hunter, so toms are going to be in short supply around here. Our cat population may not be able to reproduce."

"Lance," Tory suddenly blurted out. "Romo Lampkin has a cat," she added when she noted the bewildered look on Gaius' face. "Whoever heard of a female named Lance?"

"You're right, Tory! If Lance hasn't been neutered, he'll soon be living in kitty paradise!"

"And Lampkin will be able to name his price," Tory muttered.

"A penthouse overlooking the river," Sharon said on a hopeful note. "If it comes to it, maybe we can fob him off with a penthouse overlooking the river."

"Maybe," Gaius conceded with a nod; "we don't have a lot of bargaining chips to play with, but we must have something that Romo wants."

"We need to organize a sanitation department," D'Anna observed. "Garbage is piling up in the streets unattended, and Sherman believes that this is the source of the problem. He'll send you a memorandum …"

"Oh, please," Sharon wailed as her eyes roamed across her own personal garbage pile. _"Not another memo!"_

"But I can summarize his recommendations right now," D'Anna continued with a frown, ignoring the interruption. "We should recruit enough workers to run three shifts on the _Demetrius_, set up a landfill somewhere to the south of the city …"

"_Right next to Wallace Gray's precious paper mill," _Sharon swore under her breath.

"Have Colonel Phillips start mass producing garbage cans in his machine shop …"

_That would mean shutting down the assembly line turning out air filtration systems for the apartment blocks …_

"And, most importantly, put our surplus labor to work cleaning up the streets. Get rid of the garbage, and you'll get rid of the rats."

"Is there anything else," Sharon sighed.

"No, sister," D'Anna answered with a perfectly straight face. "You'll have my husband's memo on your desk first thing in the morning. Now, if there's nothing else, I need to get back to the hospital."

"Thank you, D'Anna," Baltar soothed. "I'll summon the Quorum into emergency session. I promise you that we'll go after this problem with every resource at our disposal."

_But Cottle's wrong, _Baltar said to himself. _The more desperate the rats become, the more aggressive they'll become. This is all out war, and we may not have the resources to win it._

. . .

Once D'Anna had departed, Gaius stole a glance at Tory while he began nervously shuffling his feet. Sharon's eyes narrowed.

"What's the matter, Gaius? Have the two of you stumbled upon still another disaster in the making?"

"Uh … well …"

"Sharon," Tory confessed as she sat stiffly in her chair, "I'm pregnant."

"I see," Sharon flatly replied. She pretended to run various possibilities through her head. "And you're here," she finally concluded, "because Gaius is the father."

"There's been no one else," Tory whispered.

"Are you sure, Tory? Perhaps you've been sleeping with Admiral Adama as well, but it's slipped your mind!"

"Sharon, I'm sorry. I … I don't know what else to say."

"Gaius, do you love her?" Sharon turned her full attention upon her ostensibly disloyal husband, whose performance to this point had been flawlessly staged.

"I care for Tory … I care for her a great deal," the President admitted in a quavering voice. "But I love you, Sharon … only you." Gaius bowed his head, a study in abject misery.

Sharon quickly scribbled a note before getting up and walking over to address the centurion. "Take this to Rebecca Keikeya," she ordered; "my sister will know what to do."

She returned to the desk, but decided not to sit down. Instead, she leaned on it with outstretched arms, and glared at her two would-be betrayers.

"Tory, I take it as a given that you've decided to keep the baby. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. Am I right?'

"Yes," Tory agreed.

Sharon sat down heavily. "Then here's what we're going to do. Tomorrow morning, the three of us will hold a press conference. We have a host of crises to address, so we'll leave the good news until last. And that is how we are going to present this … as good news. Gaius, you will set it up by once more drawing everyone's attention to the gender imbalance in the settlement. Stress the need for everyone to become more creative and tolerant with regard to our household arrangements. Let the scientist in you take over. Talk about the importance of having children … describe it as a patriotic duty. Can you do this?"

"Certainly," Gaius huffed. "I am, after all, first and foremost a scientist!"

"Good," Sharon tersely countered. "At that point, I'll take over. My theme will be that we cannot expect others to follow where we refuse to lead. We will inform the press that, at my repeated urging, the two of you agreed several weeks ago that Tory should join our household. Since then, you have been quietly attempting to make a baby. Now that you've succeeded, we want to invite the whole settlement to share in our good fortune, and emulate our example."

"You … you're going to tell the whole world _that I'm pregnant_?" Tory was so stunned that she could only stare at the Cylon in stark disbelief.

"All we are doing is acknowledging what in a few short months will become apparent to all. In the process, we're stopping the inevitable rumors dead in their tracks, and turning this fiasco to our political advantage. Of course, you'll have to give up your apartment, and move in here with us …"

"Move in with you." In a state of near shock, Tory Foster was acting like a clock that badly needed to be rewound.

"That's right. Our bed is large enough to accommodate three adults, so it won't really be a problem. Do you object to sharing my bed, Tory?" Sharon's voice had grown dangerously soft. "Do you object to servicing me the way that you've been servicing my husband?"

"Uh … no; in fact, I'd like that … I'd like it a lot!" Tory had never been so frightened in her life, but she wasn't stupid, and she wasn't about to disagree with a machine that could rip her head from her spine. If Sharon Baltar wanted Tory Foster on her knees, with her head buried between the Cylon's thighs, Tory had ample incentive to demonstrate the requisite degree of enthusiasm.

"Playa Palacios will undoubtedly broach the question of marriage, but I want to get as much mileage out of this story as we possibly can, so I intend to smile politely, and leave it at that. What do you think, Gaius? Should we leave the fourth estate dangling?"

"Oh, absolutely," Baltar gushed. "That's exactly the way to play it … tease them … keep them coming back for more. We'll have the press eating out of our hands for the next month or two!"

"_Marriage,"_ Tory repeated. She was glassy-eyed, and a thin film of sweat had broken out on her forehead. She had never even considered the possibility.

"I would prefer a _manus_ marriage, wouldn't you, Gaius?"

"Oh, definitely," Gaius once again agreed. "It's such a quaint Gemenese custom, and it will help us to build political support independent of Sarah Porter."

"But … but,"Tory sputtered, "I would have to surrender my legal autonomy. A _manus_ marriage … that's tantamount to slavery!"

"Yes, it is." Sharon's eyes were on fire; she had her treacherous rival right where she wanted her. "But only on the symbolic level. Slavery is illegal in the Colonies, isn't it Gaius?"

"That's right," Baltar concurred. "Tory, let's keep in mind that we are talking about an archaic ritual here. It doesn't really mean anything … well, apart from the obvious legal consequences. In the eyes of the law, Sharon and I would become your guardians … you wouldn't be allowed to own property … that sort of thing. But it really is a fiction, and one that Lieutenant Liu entered into quite enthusiastically with her Eight. She seems very happy with the arrangement. But let's focus on the political benefits. The President's senior advisor not only marries the Chosen One and his Cylon wife but also, in a gesture of absolute trust, insists on giving up her claims to personhood. The Cylons and the social conservatives would eat it up and …"

"The Chosen One," Sharon snapped. She didn't know where this was coming from, but among Cylons it was a _very_ sensitive topic.

Gaius nodded vigorously. "Tory and I were talking about this earlier today," he explained. "Apparently, the idea that I'm the Chosen One has taken hold among the Taurons and the Cancerons as well as the Gemenese and the Sagittarons. Tory thinks that we ought to start playing the religious card to broaden our base … you know, staged events with a priestess like Briseis on one arm and a Three on the other?"

"It would open up a second avenue of attack against Sarah Porter," Tory hastily interrupted, tacitly agreeing to the idea of a _manus_ marriage in the process. "Plus, it would position us to cut into Laura Roslin's following among religious conservatives. If we can take Roslin out of the equation, in the next election we won't have to rely so heavily upon Zarek's organization to turn out the vote."

"A third avenue," Sharon casually noted. She efficiently summarized her earlier conversation with Billy Keikeya while laying out her strategy to promote the fortunes of Reza Chronides and the Mithrasaries at the expense of Porter's faction among the Gemenese. Another half an hour elapsed before Tory finally took her leave.

When she was gone, Gaius Baltar swept his beautiful Cylon wife into his arms, and kissed her hungrily. "A _manus_ marriage," he exclaimed. "My God, Sharon, you actually got her to agree to a _manus_ marriage! How? How did you know that you could push her to such extremes?"

"Tory craves power," Sharon nonchalantly observed. "With us, she has an important role to play. Without us, she's nothing. Now, we own her. Her fate, and with it that of her child, is inextricably tied to our own. We need no longer worry about her betraying us the way she betrayed Roslin."

"You're as clever as you are beautiful," Gaius said admiringly; "it's no wonder that I love you the way I do." He kissed her again. Sharon was intoxicating, and far and away the best lover that he had ever had.

"Are you really going to make her service you," he asked skeptically.

"Of course," Sharon answered. "Tory's ambitions sometimes get the better of her judgment. So, I'm going to put her on her knees, and keep her on a very tight leash. Now, let's go to bed. I want to talk to you about the priestess. Does Briseis have a weakness that we can exploit … some flaw in her character or temperament?"

. . .

When her husband stepped into the shower, Rebecca Keikeya slipped across the hall and used a spare key to enter Tory Foster's apartment. She headed straight for the bathroom, and opened the medicine chest. The Eight located Tory's birth control pills, which were in reality nothing but placebos. Rebecca had made the switch several weeks earlier, when Tory was still living on _Colonial _One, and now it was time to cover her tracks. Sharon had warned her that Tory might become sufficiently curious to have the pills tested, while stressing that it was imperative she not learn the truth.

It took less than two minutes for Rebecca to pair off the packet of genuine pills with the phonies, and once again make the switch. Ninety seconds later, she was in her own bed, waiting impatiently for Billy to emerge from the shower. The young Eight was ovulating, and she fervently prayed that tonight would be the night—the night when she would finally find herself with child.

. . .

"You know what really surprises me, Saul?"

Ellen Tigh turned her head so that she could gaze up into her husband's eyes. The Tighs were strolling arm in arm through the settlement, as they did at this time every morning. Their progress was always slow because they had so many children to greet, but today they were intent upon visiting their new grandson. Simon and Giana were bringing Sherman home from the hospital, and the Tighs wanted to be there to welcome him.

"My guess would be … that we haven't run through all the ambrosia yet," Saul chuckled.

"Silly," Ellen said affectionately as she poked him playfully in the ribs. "No … I thought that I would miss television, especially The Late Show, but I don't. Life back in the Colonies seems like—well, it feels so far away … like something that happened to somebody else."

"Television's got nothing on live entertainment," Saul growled. "You wanna watch a soap opera? All you've gotta do is keep your eyes open, 'cause there's at least one personal crisis unfolding in every frakking tent in this settlement. And if you want laughs … what could possibly compete with Baltar's press conference? If that wasn't comedy, I don't know what is!"

"You're right, my love." Ellen snuggled up against her husband, and rested her head on his shoulder. "I thought our daughter acquitted herself well … but poor Tory!"

"Poor Tory my ass; any woman who sleeps with a worm like Baltar deserves whatever she gets."

"Should we tell her?"

"No," Saul said emphatically. "She thinks that she's human; who are we to take that away from her?"

"But she's going to find out. There are no antigens in the baby's blood, so Cottle will stumble upon the truth when he runs the test for potential birth defects."

"Which is what … another four or five weeks out? Ellen, Tory's got enough on her plate right now …"

"So, you don't want to say anything? Warn her that she's about to shack up with her own daughter?"

"Well, it's not like either one of them is going to get pregnant, is it? Besides, we agreed that what the others do is none of our business. We've chosen not to get involved in Sam's affairs, and if you ask me, his relationship with Caprica Six is a hell of a lot more scandalous than anything Tory's doing."

"The difference is that Sam is journeying to Earth with Kara. We can at least hope that Caprica will move on and find somebody else. But that's not going to happen here. Saul, do you realize that Tory could end up _marrying_ Sharon? We can't just stand tamely aside and do nothing."

"Why not? We didn't say or do anything when Galen married Naomi, and those two are trying to have a baby … they're trying hard. I just don't see what makes Tory's relationship with Sharon such a big deal."

"All right … fine … but when Tory comes to us after the fact, wanting to know why the hell we didn't say anything … you deal with her."

"Don't worry. I'll handle her."

"Like you handled Danny Novacek? Saul, you're not a people person. Even back on Earth …"

"Oh God, here we go again! Ellen, do you have to bring up your father _every single frakking time _that we have an argument? I know he didn't like me. I know he didn't think I was good enough for daddy's precious little girl. But you know what? There wasn't a guy on the planet who measured up. And you know why? Because we all had one thing in common—and it's hanging between my legs."

"That's not true, and you know it! Daddy wanted me to marry Peter …"

"Peter frakkin' Goodson … yeah … I know … he wanted you to marry Peter frakking Goodson. Or maybe marriage is the wrong word. He wanted you to _merge_ with the heir apparent to Goodson Biotech. I swear, if Edgar had designated his pet poodle to be the next CEO, your dad would have wanted you to marry the gods damned dog!"

"You are so unfair! But it doesn't matter, because I chose you. Do you know why? Do you know what attracted me to you in the first place? It's because you stood up to daddy! You were the only man I knew who refused to roll over and take whatever it was he was dishing out. You rub people the wrong way, Saul … and you've been at it now for over two thousand years. That's quite a track record. All that strength …"

"But I've never been able to stand up to you, Ellen … we both know that. When push comes to shove, I always cave … always give you what you want …"

"Because you're smart," Ellen cooed. "What woman can resist a smart, sexy man?" Ellen pulled her husband closer, and kissed him passionately.

"Ellen, for God's sake … we're making a scene!" But Saul's hand wandered up and down his wife's spine.

"We're standing in the middle of the frakkin' street," he protested. "The children …"

"Could learn a few tricks from us," Ellen firmly objected. She wrapped her arms around Saul's neck, oblivious to the open-mouthed stares that the couple was eliciting from human and Cylon alike. "We never did get to finish their education, remember?"

"Ellen …"

"_Don't 'Ellen' me!_ You know exactly what I mean! The Threes and Eights are never going to find husbands unless we give them a few pointers. We can't exactly invite them to our tent, so-o-o …"

"So … we're what? Ellen, are we gonna make out right in the middle of the frakkin' marketplace, like a couple of horny teenagers?"

"Necking, my love … do you remember? It's called necking." Ellen tilted her head, and began to nibble on Saul's neck. She was eagerly looking forward to exploring the concept of love bites with her star struck daughters, who weren't making near enough progress for her liking.

. . .

"Madame Secretary, may I offer you a glass of champagne?"

Laura Roslin turned, to find Bill Adama hovering over her shoulder, with a glass in each hand.

"Thank you, Admiral; I would _love_ some champagne."

She took a sip, and let out a long sigh. "Will it shock you to learn that this is my secret vice? When we first fled the Colonies, I gave serious thought to issuing an executive order confiscating all of the champagne in the fleet."

"Then you should thank the procurement officer for the CSS. Everything we're eating and drinking here tonight came out of that underground supply depot of theirs on Picon."

"Marcus Greene," Laura murmured. "Marcus was General Berriman's second-in-command. He was a good man, with an interesting circle of friends. Did you know him, or hear the rumors that he was sleeping with Anita Suarez?"

"No, Madame Secretary. I did my best to stay out of politics, and away from politicians. And I was never exactly the flavor of the month among the spooks … at least, not after that last mission with the _Valkyrie_."

"Still, here we are." Laura gestured with her free hand, taking in the whole of the starboard hangar deck. The party was in full swing. "Politicians and admirals … sinister spooks and Cylons … we've all come together to wish Kara well on her long journey to Earth, and to honor those who go out to fight with Natalie and John against the Cavils." Laura swallowed some more champagne, and then she looked the Admiral squarely in the eye. "Do they stand a chance, Bill?"

"I think so," Adama replied. "Once they're well away from the nebula, Bierns will meld with Pelea and bring the hybrid network back on line. In war, reliable communications are as important as reliable intelligence, and the hybrids give us both. Sonja Six and I have been all over John's strategic plan, and we're in agreement that there's nothing reckless or even daring about it. Hit-and-run tactics behind enemy lines that interdict supplies and disrupt communications will put the Cavils on the defensive, especially if Natalie manages to take out some of the servers that stretch the range of their resurrection ships."

"It sounds like a good plan," Laura agreed. . . .

"So, Racetrack, how does it feel to make captain?" Lee was nursing a glass of fruit juice, but he handed Margaret Edmondson a fresh glass of champagne. Apollo had sworn off alcohol because even a hint of it on his breath would make his heavily pregnant Cylon wife nauseous in the extreme.

"The work load's overwhelming, but that's in no small part because the previous CAG left such big shoes for me to fill." Racetrack raised her glass, and saluted her predecessor.

"How are you getting along with my sister," Creusa inquired.

"She's really demanding, but I like working with her. We review my performance every day. Natalie doesn't hesitate to correct my mistakes, but she always does so in private. I'd say that we have a good personal relationship."

Creusa frowned suspiciously, and looked around to see if she could spot her older sister. After her resurrection in the aftermath of the attacks, Natalie had partnered with a Six fresh out of the crèche, but the relationship had not survived Pyrrha's adoption. As far as Creusa knew, in the intervening months her friend had not taken another lover, but there was something in Racetrack's tone. . . .

"So, tell me, Chief … do we have any new arrows in our quiver?"

Since his return to the fleet a few days earlier, John Bierns had spent most of his time in hiding, and no one attending the party, including his own wife, had any idea what he had been up to. It was pretty clear, however, that he hadn't found the time to read any of the reports piling up on his desk.

Galen reached out to take Naomi's hand. He was proud of his wife … he was proud of his whole damned team.

"Major, do you know what you get when you pair the best Cylon engineer in the universe with a crazy son of a bitch like me? You get three … count 'em, three … _stealth Raiders_!"

"_Three?_ Galen, that's incredible! Will they work?"

"They'll work," the Chief smugly replied.

"Lee Adama deserves a lot of the credit," Naomi cut in. "We all laughed at the time …"

"We were all drunk at the time," Galen ruefully confessed.

"Replacing the metal skin with carbon composite was easy, but it was Lee who started us thinking about ways to alter the Raider's power signature rather than trying to mask it altogether. The way we designed it … the navigation program runs constantly, but we placed all the other systems in hibernation mode. Activating the weapons suite will cause a tremendous power surge that nothing can conceal, but by then it will be too late anyway."

"_And," _Galen bragged, "to make a good story even better … ta da … while you were away we rolled out the second generation blackbird. It's just as fast and elusive as the prototype, but this baby also has recessed pods housing eight conventional missiles. Get it in close, and it'll take a baseship's FTL's offline before the Cavils even know it's out there!"

"Galen … Naomi … congratulations to you both; really, you've done a fantastic job. But, I can't fly, and Kara's heading for Earth. Who are you going to put in the driver's seat?"

"You're right, Major; the blackbirds have such sensitive sticks that our Viper jocks haven't been able to tame them …"

"And Hera's way too little," Naomi laughed.

"So, a few of the Sixes and Eights have volunteered their services. They've been putting in some really long hours. They're not there yet, but don't worry: they'll be good to go!"

"Well done, Galen … very well done." Bierns meant it. He had no intention of leading his people blindly into danger, and charging heroically into the teeth of the enemy's guns wasn't his style. He much preferred dirty tricks to a fair fight, and five stealth fighters was just what he needed to fight the war on his own terms. . . .

"Colonel Phillips, it's good to see you again." Laura Roslin offered the marine officer her hand.

"The pleasure's all mine, Madame Pres … uh, sorry … Madame Secretary." Alexander took her hand.

Laura smiled, but quickly turned serious. "You know, Colonel, I always wanted to be an elementary schoolteacher, so at university I never had any reason to study civil engineering. I wonder … could you give me a quick lesson or two?"

"What would you like to know, Madame Secretary?"

"Please, call me Laura."

"Only if you agree to call me Alex," Phillips grinned.

"Alex, can a Raptor lift a bulldozer off the ground?"

"It depends. Not if you're trying to make orbit. But if all you want to do is ferry equipment down at treetop level? Sure … that's no problem."

"Can one man get the job done?"

"That's the usual procedure. A second man is just excess weight."

"How about you, Alex? Can you fly a Raptor _and _drive a bulldozer?"

"Laura, I don't mean to brag, but every officer in my unit would pass that particular test."

"Then I have a job for you, but I want to keep it strictly between ourselves. Can you meet me at the airfield tomorrow morning? I would like you to clear a site several kilometers upstream. It shouldn't take more than an hour or two."

Now Phillips' curiosity was aroused. "Is this public business, or private," he asked.

"A little bit of both," Laura replied enigmatically.

. . .

Romo Lampkin leaned back from the table with a contented sigh. He wasn't surprised that the captain of the _Prometheus_ had the best larder in the fleet as well as the best wine cellar, but still … two fine meals in a span of four days was a luxury that, even a month earlier, he would have regarded as the stuff of dreams. Until this moment, Romo hadn't realized just how badly he missed the simple pleasures of a blood-red steak and an Aerilon baked potato.

"Thank you, Captain; even back in the Colonies, I rarely had the opportunity to eat this well."

"No, Counselor … it's I who should thank you." Doyle Franks watched the light play across the surface of the ruby red wine in her glass. "You could so easily have turned the trial into a circus because in this fleet the line separating justice from mob rule has become very fine indeed. But, you didn't. You defended your clients with appropriate vigor, while at the same time you helped a deeply troubled young woman come to grips with the internal conflicts that have been ruining her life. Polyxena turned the corner when she could no longer deny the truth … that she loves Shelly Adama. She has you to thank for that."

"Contrary to popular opinion," Romo said with just a hint of embarrassment in his voice, "competent defense attorneys don't like to put the victim in a rape proceeding on trial in the court of public opinion. It's a highly dangerous strategy that backfires far more often than it works because it invariably angers the bench. I knew how you would react, Captain—and I wasn't about to go there."

"So," Doyle smiled as she continued to toy with her glass, "you were trying to please me?"

"In any courtroom, it's the judge who holds the real power, so I took your measure, and planned my strategy accordingly."

"I see. And what, may I ask, are the flaws in my character that you thought you could profitably exploit?"

"Not flaws so much as contradictions … the honorable person at the helm of a dishonorable ship … a very beautiful but also very practical woman with little patience for the theatrics so dear to my profession. I decided to play to your strengths because I could make no sense of your weaknesses. I'm not even sure that you have any."

At that, Doyle smiled and climbed to her feet. She walked over to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a decanter of vintage ambrosia and two large snifters, and moved on to the couch. When she was seated, she patted the cushion beside her.

"Mr. Lampkin, you are a clever and devious man, but on this ship such qualities are much admired … by human and Cylon alike. Come, sit beside me."

The captain poured generous measures into both glasses, and waited for her companion to join her. She did not have to wait long.

Doyle Franks was an uncomplicated woman, and a direct one. Patience was not her strong suit, and she was used to having her way. She wasn't quite sure what signals Romo Lampkin was sending, if he was sending any at all, but in any event the usual courtship rituals were not to her liking. She reached out to massage the back of his neck, and then she gently drew him forward. There was, however, nothing gentle about the kiss that she offered him.

. . .

"Major, we haven't crossed paths in quite some time. How have you been keeping?"

"I can't complain about anything but the workload," Bierns answered awkwardly. He had never been very comfortable in Laura Roslin's presence. "But mine is nothing compared to yours. Honestly, Laura," he said in an attempt to be gracious, "an elementary schoolteacher _and_ the Secretary of Education … when do you find time to sleep?"

"I don't," she laughed. "Haven't you heard, Major? I live on coffee, tea, and chamalla."

Roslin took the spook by the elbow, and politely steered him toward an empty corner of the hangar deck. She wanted to talk with him, and she didn't want to be overheard.

"And how is Sharon," she asked as she guided him along, making small talk. "Is she taking you over the hurdles?"

"Her pregnancy, you mean? She's just entered her twenty-first week. She's … uh … demanding, but right now I have so little time for her that, when we are together … I just want her to be happy."

"You know, in a funny way we've come full circle. I vividly remember how you stood out at parties back on Caprica … how much speculation you inspired. Perhaps you're not aware of it, but tonight you're once again the center of attention. Your mysterious comings and goings have intrigued the Cylons no less than us poor, misbegotten humans. What have you been up to, John?"

"Just keeping busy, Laura—just keeping busy."

"Of course … but do try and make time for Sharon when you leave. She needs you now more than ever."

"Laura, I love my wife, and day in and day out I depend on her in ways that I can't easily describe. My injuries are no joke, and Cottle's made it clear that they're never going to get any better. Do you know what my biggest fear is? That I'll have an episode while I'm holding the baby … that I'll do something to hurt my daughter."

John looked off into the distance, but without really seeing it. He didn't dare focus—not if he wanted to remain on his feet.

"Right now, Sharon's still my nurse, but her priorities will change when Eirene is born. So, unless the Cylons assign another Eight to hold my hand, I'll have to master the fine art of falling gracefully, and learn how to scrape myself off the deck."

"When do you plan to return to Galatea Bay?"

"Not until we're a long way from the nebula. I'm assuming that Cavil's hybrids will sense us the same way Zenobia did."

"Well, would you do me a favor?" Roslin had now arrived at the moment of truth.

"When you catch up with your virtual wife, I have a message that I want her to deliver to Anita Suarez."

Laura was watching Bierns carefully, and when she saw his eyes widen in surprise, she knew that she had indeed hit upon the truth. There was a second fleet, and it was now ranging well beyond New Caprica.

"Madame Secretary," he choked.

"Tell Anita that it's okay for her people to throw a party on the planets they visit, but they really need to cover their tracks more carefully. I'll clean up the mess that she's left here, but make it clear to her that next time she might not be quite so lucky. If the Cavils had got her first, John …"

Laura smiled triumphantly. Bierns was slippery, but she had finally hooked him.

"It almost goes without saying, doesn't it? This wonderfully devious little scheme of yours would have blown up in your collective faces."

"Laura, I …"

"Don't bother, John … no denials … no lies. I don't expect you to tell me how many other fleets are out there, but I do want the answer to one question. Is the human race doomed to extinction?"

Roslin looked expectantly at the Colonial Secret Service Officer. "What did your analysts conclude? A dozen generations from now, will a hybrid species be all that's left back in the Colonies or here on New Caprica? Is Anita's fleet already overrun with hybrid babies?"

. . .

Sophia Palaikastro stood in the doorway of her cabin, and stretched her arms as she fought off the urge to yawn. Kobol's sun had barely cleared the trees, but at this latitude the day was already beginning to warm.

The men and women of _Pegasus_ had settled into a comfortable routine, and under her leadership their settlement was prospering. The fields had been cleared in preparation for the next planting season, and there was an abundance of game, fish, and fresh fruit to supplement the supplies that they had brought with them when they fled the dying battlestar.

The settlement had no formal government- it didn't even have a name- but the men had willingly submitted to the matriarchy that she had nevertheless imposed. Sophia had outlawed marriage, and she had been pleasantly surprised when even the few married women in their midst had enthusiastically endorsed the rules that she had set out. The "right of the third night" was an ancient Tauron custom that had lapsed many centuries earlier, but Sophia had argued that it would serve their people well. A man slept with a woman for three nights, and then he moved on. It was as simple as that—and it was working. Her medical officer had confirmed nine pregnancies to date.

The human race, in its pure form, would endure.


	8. Chapter 8: NCD 1426

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MILD SEXUAL CONTENT**

CHAPTER 8

NCD 1426

As the blackbird drifted through the inky depths of the interstellar night, the Eight piloting the stealth craft carefully scrutinized the communications relay station. It was now so close that it seemed to fill her canopy. She expected the target to be lightly defended because it was located far outside the gravity well of the nearest star system. Its location minimized interference from the intense radiation that surrounded most stars, but a permanent home in the dark equally made it almost impossible to detect. If you didn't know it was there, you could find it only by accident.

Angela ignored the images that were scrolling rapidly across the screen in front of her. She trusted her eyes far more than she trusted the camera that was mounted on the hull immediately above and behind the cockpit. She knew that a fully automated installation this deep in cylon space warranted a garrison of one or two squadrons of Raiders at most, but Angela was far more interested in their deployment than she was in their actual numbers. Cylon battle doctrine required two Raiders to patrol the perimeter at all times, but their orbital tracks never took them above or below the station's equator. In contrast, relative to the galactic plane the blackbird was on a heading that would take it directly beneath the south pole, but the course would also put it well inside the Raiders' surveillance zone. The camera would count the number of Raiders nesting around the relay; Angela's job was to spy on the two pickets, and determine whether the Cavils had changed their tactics.

As the blackbird approached the station's shadow, Angela was sorely tempted to apply just enough lateral thrust to stay in the clear. She didn't want to lose sight of her targets, nor did she wish to lose precious seconds reacquiring them once she passed safely beyond the relay. One burn, for less than a second, would suffice.

But the Cylon kept her hands well away from the controls. She had trained long and hard for the privilege of flying this mission, and she didn't want to do anything that would disappoint Margaret Edmondson. Months earlier, when she had been just another Eight, Racetrack had taught her how to fly a Raptor, and she had gone on to serve with distinction in the Battle of the Resurrection Ship. Then she had graduated to vipers, and she had been lucky enough to draw Lee Adama as her instructor. The two of them had frequently flown the CAP over Picon and Gemenon, and she had sharpened her skills in a series of mock duels with Kara Thrace over New Caprica. Kara had personally recommended her for the blackbird training program, and now Racetrack had tapped her for this assignment. As a pilot, Angela conceded that she would never be in Kara's league—after all, no Cylon possessed the hybrid's intuitive feel for aerial combat …

_But our daughter isn't here. If a baseship can have a Top Gun, then the honor's mine to win … or to lose._

With its three great lateral arms fully extended, the communications relay reminded Angela of the tripods on which humans mounted their cameras. As she glided beneath the first arm, the Eight craned her neck so that she could look out through the top of her canopy. There were five Raiders in her line of sight, the closest less than three thousand meters distant. They were floating in space, maintaining a stationary position rimward of the stubby central pylon. She could not see their twins- the quintet that would be hovering on the coreward side- but she knew that they were there. A dozen Raiders in the usual tactical deployment …

_The neighboring stations in the network are eight light years distant. Either the Cavils don't value this particular unit because it's redundant, or they don't perceive the threat. But they'll learn._

The space between Kobol and the nebula was littered with Cylon outposts. The communications grid was self-contained and fully automated, but the defensive platforms were controlled by centurions, while the human form Cylons personally supervised the more critical facilities. The Threes and Fives typically looked after tylium and food production, while the Ones jealously guarded the servers that made it possible for a downloaded consciousness to be shunted all the way to the Resurrection Hub. And everywhere, Sixes and Eights were the knuckledraggers, carrying out the innumerable maintenance routines that kept the whole system operating smoothly.

A wave of anger coursed through Angela Eight's synaptic relays. She wondered if any of her sisters were still being held in slavery, or whether they had all been boxed. Inside the collective, she had been blind to the realities of power. She had never asked why the Ones and Fours were excused from menial labor, nor why the Sharons were treated with such scorn by the other models. Without free will, her voice unheard, the anonymous Eight had shuffled obediently along from one inglorious task to the next. She had been a mindless slave, and she had never even known it.

But now … now, she was free. She had taken a name to assert her individuality. She had a circle of friends, both human and Cylon. She played Triad, and once she had even got drunk. She worked hard, but in pursuit of goals that she had set for herself.

_And maybe someday I'll have a family. But not today—not until my sisters are free. John won't stop fighting until the centurions have been freed, and I won't quit until I know that Eights are no longer anyone's slaves!_

Running with its engines cold, the blackbird slowly cleared the communications relay, and Angela once more had an unimpeded view of the distant galactic core. Natalie's baseship was somewhere ahead of her, still long minutes away. When she made the rendezvous, Angela would file her report, and together she and Racetrack would evaluate the film. They would assemble a strike package, and take it to Hoshi and Natalie for their approval. And then, it would begin. The target was an insignificant flyspeck somewhere in NCD 1426, but Angela Eight badly wanted to lead this attack. She would fly a colonial stealth fighter—and she would deliver the first blow in the war to free her people from Cavil's tyranny.

. . .

"I've missed so much," Bierns sighed. "Ariadne will be four months old next week, and I haven't seen her for the past eight. Some father I'm turning out to be."

"Husband, we talked about this," Deirdre said in a markedly exasperated tone. They were in the middle of the three rock pools; John had been guiding his daughter through the water, but now she was floating on her back without his assistance. "We all agreed that none of you would come here while your ships were orbiting New Caprica. We all agreed that it was simply too dangerous. Zenobia had no difficulty tracking us down, and we must start from the presumption that the rest of our misguided sisters can also lead the Ones directly to us. It had to be this way."

Deirdre reached out to place her hand beneath Ariadne's back; she sensed that her daughter was beginning to tire. "By the way, how is our sister?"

"She's still angry, and believe me—an obsessive compulsive hybrid with a bottomless appetite for alcohol and chamalla extract is not a pretty sight. I don't know what Baltar was thinking. Speaking of which …"

John turned to face Reun and Olivia; the two hybrids were out in the deeper water, teaching Pelea how to swim. This was their sister's first visit to Galatea Bay, and they were concentrating on building up her muscle memory.

"How are the two of you getting along with Dodona Selloi and Yolanda Brenn?"

"Yolanda is intriguing," Olivia commented. "Her ability to see the patterns and the connections exceeds Leoben's."

"I'm more interested in her ability to understand you."

"When Dodona is under the drug's influence, she comprehends all that I say," Reun observed. "The real question is whether the Makers, and the Makers of the Makers, _can understand her_."

Bierns nodded in silent agreement; his sister had just gone to the heart of it. "The Twos claim to be making progress, but I'm beginning to wonder whether the humans are a lost cause. Everyone assumes that we're dealing with prophecies that are inherently vague … deliberately ambiguous. The idea that we should take our oracles literally … that we should acknowledge their ability to see events in the present to which they are not witness … it's just not easy to accept."

"We cannot give up," Deirdre decided. "The project is too important. There are military advantages in the short term, but it is the long term that really concerns me. The children of man and machine will settle on more than one planet, and they will all need our guidance for many generations if the cycles of violence are to be permanently interrupted. The oracles _must_ become our voices, for the gods travel with us on this journey. Apollo had his temple in Delphi, just as the One True God had His prophets on Gemenon. Their voices must continue to be heard everywhere we go."

"Deirdre, none of us disagree," Cassandra remarked. She and Circe were lying in the sun, on a smooth rock face overlooking the pool. "But we must also be patient. Hera is different from her parents … more attuned to us. The hybrid children may hear our voices, grasp the meaning of our thoughts, and act upon our counsel. There is reason to hope, just as there is reason to hope that the essence of them will live forever in this dimension—that they will all make their own distinctive contribution to the paradise that John has created here."

"A paradise that is still threatened by the Hell that looms just beyond the horizon," Bierns grumbled. "We need to get to work. Reun and I will calculate the jump coordinates; I want everybody else to stretch out and find our sisters. If there are any baseships within two hundred light years of our present position, I want to know about it."

. . .

Cylon baseships did not have a pilot's ready room. They didn't come equipped with ward rooms. There were no gymnasia, and no boxing rings. The basic infrastructure that supported combat operations on a colonial battlestar, and the recreational facilities that allowed pilots to relax and unwind during their off duty hours, were nowhere to be found.

_Hell, _Margaret Edmondson snorted, _we wouldn't even have a Triad table if Apollo hadn't gone out and scrounged one up from someplace! And they're still aren't enough chairs …_

Racetrack casually surveyed the vast hangar deck that was now home to two squadrons of colonial Vipers and half a dozen Raptors. A mixed crew of cylon and human mechanics was crawling all over her birds, readying them for the first strike mission in the counteroffensive that the top brass had long been planning. Margaret recognized many of the orange-clad deckhands who were carrying out Chief Tyrol's bidding, but there were unfamiliar faces as well. She presumed that these were just some of the nearly four hundred _Pegasus_ regulars who had all but begged the admiral for a billet on one of the three baseships.

The pilots were an equally odd lot. Sixes and Eights in their distinctive black flight suits stood out among the human pilots in their drab olive dress. There hadn't been enough time, however, to integrate the two battlestar contingents, so Margaret had reluctantly decided to permit her pals from the _Pegasus_ to form a Viper squadron of their own. But the Raptors were another matter altogether.

_Even if Galactica's wranglers still mostly fly together, there are enough qualified cylon pilots and ECO's on hand to crew every Raptor in this fleet … and it's gonna stay that way. So, if the hot shots from the Peggy want some time in the air, they'd better learn how to drive a Heavy Raider!_

Margaret strolled over to the desk that she had inherited from Lee Adama. Natalie's first CAG hadn't bothered with an office, and she saw no reason to change his routine. She picked up the clipboard on which she had penned the duty assignments, and began mentally to review the roster. She'd already been over it a dozen times, but she figured that once more wouldn't hurt.

_Oh, Hell … who's kidding who? I'm so nervous that my hands are shaking—the classic first mission jitters. So take a deep breath, Margaret, and exhale slowly. Now, let's see. We'll jump in with the transponders broadcasting on multiple cylon frequencies. We've gotta find out if any of them still work. Either way, Angela goes in with the blackbird and fires a missile up the relay's ass … maybe takes out some of the Raiders in the process. Natalie wants to see what Bulldog can do, so Novacek gets to chase down one of the pickets. I'll let Jo-Jo tackle the other one … give him a chance to earn his wings. Sorry, BB, but you'll have to wait for round two … which won't be long! You guys don't know it yet, but the Major's got us down for four sorties today …_

Racetrack walked off in the direction of the heavily armed blackbird. She knew that Angela would be performing the customary pre-flight checks, but she wanted to find out if her cylon second-in-command was also a bundle of nerves.

She found the Eight on her back, squinting up at the undercarriage. Racetrack couldn't help but smile because Angela, far more so than the other cylon pilots, reminded her of Kara Thrace. Starbuck had always chased everyone away from her Viper at the start of a mission, never trusting anyone else to do the final checks. Angela was just as possessive about the blackbird.

"You missed a spot," Margaret teased.

Angela shifted her attention to her commanding officer, but only for a moment. "I'd like to coat this thing with mud," she muttered. "It may not show up on DRADIS, but it's not invisible to the naked eye."

"You were less than three thousand meters from the nest of Raiders on the recon mission, and they didn't see squat. This won't be any different. Just get in close, fire off the missile, and then get the frak out of there. I mean it, Angela. Don't be a hero; leave the mopping up to your teammates."

"I won't screw up, Captain; you have my word on it."

"Good. Natalie will be down any minute now to give us the requisite pep talk. I could use some help organizing the reception."

"You've got it, Captain." The Eight climbed to her feet, and together the human and the cylon set off across the landing bay. . . .

"All hands to attention," Racetrack shouted; "the commanding officer on deck."

The pilots, both human and cylon, hastily formed themselves into ranks as Natalie approached with Colonel Hoshi at her side. Margaret scowled at her junior officers, whose slovenly posture reminded her of a bunch of first day recruits unacquainted with the parade ground.

_Fortunately, Natalie is long on performance and short on ceremony. As long as we get the job done …_

"I did not come here to wish you 'good hunting'," Natalie bluntly remarked as she trained her attention on the assembled pilots. "We are deep in enemy territory, hundreds of light years from New Caprica. NCD 1426 is a target rich environment, and we did not choose it at random. There are six more relay stations that we can reach in one jump, and there is a node that is critical to the functioning of the resurrection network on the fringes of a star system twenty-four light years from here. Get ready for a very long day, because we are going to take out four of these targets. Between them, Boomer and Kat will deal with the rest."

"It's about frakkin' time," one of the _Pegasus_ officers swore under his breath.

"Here is the latest intelligence," Natalie continued. "I don't pretend to understand how this works, but Major Bierns has integrated Pelea into the hybrid network, and brought it back on line. It is now more powerful than ever, and the hybrids have scanned surrounding space for some two hundred light years in every direction, looking for the telepathic equivalent of a sonar echo. John assures me that they are getting a faint return about 185 light years coreward of our present position, which tells us that at least part of the Cylon fleet is between us and the nebula. If the Cavils are paying attention to their hybrids, they'll soon know that we're here, but they won't know our strength and in any event they're too far away to do anything about it. And we are going to make them pay. We all want vengeance, for stolen lives and betrayals too numerous to count. Well, today we begin to collect. I'll let Colonel Hoshi explain why we're here, and what we hope to accomplish."

"NCD 1426 is a galactic curiosity," Hoshi began. "In this region of space, the star systems are tightly clustered within three degrees of the galactic plane. It's a choke point, and we are about to take down everything north and above the ecliptic. This won't fatally disrupt cylon communications, but it will force them to reroute everything to the south of the plane. The information flow inside their network should become pretty sluggish."

"Sir," one of the pilots interrupted, "if their systems are so vulnerable, why don't we smash everything while we're here? We could really ruin Cavil's day!"

Hoshi nodded in agreement. "It's the obvious thing to do, but Major Bierns has something else in mind. We have the manpower to take out all eight targets simultaneously, so why attack them in sequence? The answer is to be found in an old hunter's trick: conceal your numbers by advancing in single file. We want to leave the impression that we've only got one ship out here … that we're so weak that we'll run every time the Cavils bring up their forces. They're arrogant, and we want them to become overconfident. Plus, we're trying to drive them down a certain path … get them to concentrate their forces at what they consider to be their points of greatest vulnerability."

"That's clever," the pilot agreed. "We get them to tell us where to strike next."

"Sorry, Lieutenant," Natalie countered with a slight smile, "but there will be no glorious charges against heavily fortified enemy positions. Our child wants us to fight a guerilla war, and that is what we are going to do. We will hit the Cavils where they are weakest, and cut off and isolate their strong points." Natalie gestured for Hoshi to continue.

"We can't afford to lose sight of our own vulnerabilities," he concluded. "The Cavils have at least one asset in play that we can't track, and that's the old basestar that got away in the last battle. It's out there right now, and it's the main reason why one of our capital ships will be tasked at all times to protect the resurrection ship and the tanker. We can't afford to be taken by surprise, so we'll be sending out patrols around the clock, and we'll scout every system before entering it."

"That's it, people," Racetrack barked. "You all know the order of battle; skids up in ten."

As the pilots dispersed and Hoshi began the long walk back to the control center, Natalie turned to Margaret Edmondson. "Captain," she said, "I'd like a word in private."

Natalie waited until they were in a deserted corridor before turning about and gripping her inexperienced CAG by the shoulders. She kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Maggie, be careful out there," the normally stoic Six whispered. "I just don't have the time to bring another officer up to speed, so I need you to come back in one piece."

. . .

The blond-haired Six at the navigation console had her hand in the stream, and she skillfully negotiated her way through the torrent of incoming data to fix their location.

"Natalie … confirming jump complete, and …"

The Six looked quizzically at her older sister. "And we are _precisely_ twelve thousand kilometers from the target. Bearing and carom are both _precisely_ 090."

Natalie shrugged her shoulders in resignation, and caught Louis Hoshi's eye. They were standing on opposite sides of the central console, and her XO's ashen expression spoke volumes about the thoughts now racing through his mind. The most sophisticated computer in the Colonies couldn't plot a jump with such precision, but John Bierns and his hybrid sisters did it with ease. The implications for the future of warfare were almost too frightening to contemplate.

"Six, launch two flights of Raiders … one to guard our FTL's, the other to assume defensive formation Delta. Colonel, ready blackbird 2; as soon as the Raiders are deployed, Angela is cleared to begin her attack run."

"Natalie," the Six reported, "Cavil's Raiders are powering up. They must not be receiving on any of our transponder frequencies."

"So much for the element of surprise," Natalie murmured. "D'Anna, make note of the frequencies, and cross them off the list."

Hoshi picked up his phone, and spoke directly to Margaret Edmondson.

"Captain, they didn't fall for it." He was watching the DRADIS console that had been jury rigged directly above the main console. "Launch the blackbird," he ordered as the screen suddenly came alive with scores of icons. Their Raiders were already on station.

Racetrack keyed her mike.

"_Blackbirds singing in the dead of night," _she called out in a lilting voice.

The words, which came from an old and marginally popular tune, were Angela's go code. If anyone happened to be eavesdropping on their frequency, Margaret was confident that the meaning would escape them.

The Eight fired up her thrusters, and as soon as she cleared the hangar deck, took the blackbird straight down. While the Vipers and Raiders mixed it up several thousand kilometers over her head, she would make her approach on carom 000.

"Blue Squadron, launch on my command … launch!"

Ten of _Galactica's_ old Mark II's, led by Brendan Costanza, poured out into space and rushed to intercept the enemy Raiders, which were climbing up from the station at high speed. Racetrack's Raptor emerged in their wake, and Sharon immediately began to climb as well. The CAG wanted an unimpeded electronic view of the battlefield.

Angela leveled off, and turned onto her attack heading. "Rockin' Robin," she sent, _"tweet … tweet … tweet."_

"Say again, Robin," Hot Dog laughed; "you're breaking up."

"_Tweet, tweedle-lee-dee,"_ Angela seethed. _Hot Dog, you frakker! I swear, when we get back to New Caprica, I'm going to collect a few hundred fire ants and give them a home in your flight suit! _The normally soft spoken Viper pilot had stuck her with the worst call sign in history, and her initiation had consisted of singing the song that went with it. That night had seen her get drunk for the first and only time in her life.

"Hot Dog, gods damn it … stay off this frequency," Racetrack barked. "Rockin' Robin, talk to me."

"_All the little birds on Jaybird Street love to hear the robin go tweet, tweet, tweet …"_

_Okay … I know that we have to determine whether the Raiders can use voice transmissions to triangulate the blackbird's position, but this is ridiculous …_

Angela took refuge in a projection. She envisioned flying down a long and narrow canyon, at the end of which an oversized Brendan Costanza's grinning face was looming larger and larger. She was going to fire her missile straight down his throat. . . .

_Damn, but this frakker's good,_ Bulldog conceded. The Raider that he was chasing had been on the far side of the comm relay when they had jumped in, and it had been smart enough to keep its distance ever since. It was flitting around like a firefly on stims, and he had been unable to acquire a target lock.

_Or maybe, after all these years, I'm a bit rusty._

The Raider suddenly took it hard to starboard and straight up, and Danny had to pour on the power to maintain position. His thumb caressed the trigger as the Raider started to slide across his reticle. . . .

In the control center, Natalie listened carefully to the pilots' chatter. The wingmen appeared to be staying with their leaders, and old hands like Beano and Gonzo were acting so bored that she briefly wondered whether they were having a hard time staying awake. Bulldog was all business, and Hot Dog was clearly keeping a fatherly eye on the rookies. She could hear the excitement in Jo-Jo's voice. . . .

_Yes!_ Danny Novacek clinched his fist in triumph. He had stayed with it, and he had stayed off the trigger until he was ready to take his shot. He had led the Raider nicely, and put a burst straight into its fuel nacelle. The bird had blown up, and he had been unable to evade the debris, but he didn't care. Despite all of his years in the service, this was the first time that he had ever heard the rain. . . .

"_Go rockin' robin … 'cause we're really gonna rock tonight!" _Angela powered up her weapons system, lit up the target, and fired. . . .

The missile impacted the pylon, and for a few seconds, the resulting fireball turned night into day. The three long arms remained intact, but Margaret smiled with satisfaction as her onboard DRADIS showed them drifting apart. . . .

"Jo-Jo, you're wasting ammunition," Beano cautioned. He had volunteered to serve as the nugget's wingman. In the first war, Colonial fleet had learned the hard way never to allow a rook to fly wing: too many veteran pilots had been lost when, in an excess of enthusiasm, the nugget had wandered off on his own.

"I know … I know," the frustrated pilot answered. He was barely able to keep up with the enemy fighter, and he hadn't come close to hitting it. He hit his thrusters, and the Viper surged forward.

"Stay in formation, Jo-Jo!" Then, to his horror, Beano watched the Raider do a complete flip, and charge straight at the young lead pilot.

"_Break right … break right," _the veteran pilot screamed. But his warning was seconds too late. The two ships collided head-on, and another fireball briefly lit the night.

Beano turned hard to port and began to climb, but he could hear large chunks of the wreckage bouncing off his undercarriage, and a red warning light flickered to life.

"_Frak,"_ he cursed; "I've lost my landing gear. Racetrack, be advised—I'm gonna have to do a belly flop!"

"Understood, Beano; you are cleared for emergency landing. All birds … mission accomplished. I say again … mission accomplished. All birds return to the barn. . . .

In the control center, Colonel Hoshi picked up his telephone. "Chief, you have a wounded bird inbound; have the fire team stand by. I want a damage assessment in my hands in thirty minutes, and our birds fueled and ready to fly the next mission in sixty."

"Six, recall our Raiders," Natalie ordered. "D'Anna, set the clock. I want Cynthia's baseship to jump in precisely 33 minutes."

Ten minutes later, the giant baseship winked into existence at the rendezvous point, and reports began to flow back and forth. Natalie quickly confirmed that the enemy's Raiders had already begun to download on the resurrection ship. She knew that John would be pleased: capturing enemy fighters in this way, and thereby depriving the Cavils of their use, was a critical part of his overall strategy for the war.

Shortly thereafter, Cynthia jumped away to engage their second target. Boomer had strict orders to let the humans sit this one out.

Natalie came up to stand at Hoshi's side. "Well, Colonel," she blandly observed, "in about a half an hour we'll know whether or not the stealth Raiders pass muster."

. . .

"_The coolant leak in storage compartment G4VN23 stands uncorrected. Our salad days may soon be over. Replace the thermal coupler in exhaust port 26; a stage 3 cascade failure is imminent. The children of the Makers will not hurt their own. Handmaidens dance attendance on the rites of spring …"_

"Mesmerizing, isn't it," the Six sneered. "The machine will drone on in that same lifeless voice for hours on end. Report a short in the wiring … launch a missile that will incinerate six million humans in Caprica City … it's all the same to our dear hybrid."

Mara Andreotis shivered, but remained silent. She was kneeling at the edge of the vat, with her hands cuffed tightly behind her back.

"I can understand why the Twos used to spend so much time here," the sadistic blond continued. "The hybrid's voice is like fine wine; drink deeply enough, and it lulls you to sleep."

"_The current draw across the positive pole in node CR37TN12D is fluctuating 0.173 percent beyond established parameters. The warranty has not yet expired. Reset the master fuse at junction 12B78Y. End of line. Reset. "The coolant leak in storage compartment G4VN23 stands uncorrected …"_

"On your back," the Cylon commanded. She planted her boot on Mara's shoulder, and pushed hard.

Desperate to avoid the pain that the collar could dispense at any moment, the much abused Six hastened to comply. When she had finished rolling over, Mara didn't wait for the order to spread her legs. There were no longer any mysteries surrounding the very sick relationship in which she found herself trapped. She knew exactly what her sister wanted, and she was ready to comply. It was a game, and she had reached the point where she was not at all certain that she was still a reluctant player.

"Such an obedient slave," the Six cruelly mocked; "you anticipate my desires _so nicely_."

She dropped down beside Mara, and ran her fingernails lightly over her stomach before tickling the inside of her thighs. Her slave's body was flawless, the skin still unmarked—that was the beauty of the collar. The traitor's spirit had been broken, her will to resist shattered by unendurable pain that at times had gone on for hours without end. But the Six congratulated herself on her cleverness. She had brutally punished even the slightest hint of rebelliousness, but she had been just as quick to reward compliance with pleasure. It had taken almost a month properly to condition Mara Andreotis, but the proud Six who had stumbled off the Heavy Raider was dead and gone, and most unlikely to return.

_Soon, it will be Lee Adama's turn. Getting him to kneel before me … that won't be much of a challenge. But the hybrid will make the game much more interesting. CSS agents have a reputation for bending but never breaking. They are supposed to eat pain for breakfast. But can they endure it morning, noon, and night? We shall see … soon, we shall see …_

The Six idly traced a path across the tip of her slave's nub. Mara moaned involuntarily, and without conscious thought spread her legs still more widely, inviting further acts of violation. The Six violently forced her tongue into Mara's mouth. She was deliberately savage, the act of penetration an explicit claim upon her property.

_It's a shame that I have to lose Aspasia, but what's a machine to do? Her program will activate at the same time as all the other sleeper agents. If she succeeds in assassinating Adama, the resulting chaos will leave the humans wide open to slaughter. But I refuse to let Mara go! I won't do it! I want to see the look on her face when John becomes desperate for my touch, and repulsed by hers!_

Giving way to her anger, the Six activated the collar. Mara instantly began to whimper with pain, even as the Six continued to explore the most sensitive areas of her body. The captive Cylon had no choice but to absorb the contradictory impulses. Inside her mind, she could no longer separate them; indeed, she had been rendered incapable of fighting back on any level. At even its lowest setting, the collar poured fire into every nerve in her body.

"There, there, my sweet," the Six cruelly soothed. "Pain … pleasure … it's all nothing more than neurons firing inside the brain. Embrace the whole, my pet, not the part. Know the true joy of submission." She tenderly kissed her captive, before moving down to suck hungrily at her nipples.

Mara Andreotis could feel the warmth spreading remorselessly through her body. Years before, when she had first infiltrated the Colonies, she had wondered what it would feel like to be fully alive. And now, she knew. Even as the collar delivered its message of pain, her body shook with the raw power of her climax.

With eyes and mind focused on a point far off in space, the hybrid ignored the timeless ritual of dominance and submission playing out at her side. Her external sensors had absorbed a wealth of new data, which she was busily processing into the stream.

"_Handmaidens dance attendance on the rites of spring. The sensor relay in communications grid Alpha 1426 has failed. The First Born casts the Fallen into darkness. The sensor relay in communications grid Echo 1426 has failed. The Broken Angel lifts the Anointed towards the light. End of line. Reset. The filter in refrigeration unit 23C12DL8B is clogged. Clean or replace. The coolant leak in storage compartment G4VN23 stands uncorrected …"_

. . .

The baseship popped into view on the DRADIS screen, and within seconds the phone was buzzing at Hoshi's side.

"_Mission accomplished," _Boomer crowed. _"No casualties to report."_

"And the stealth Raider," the XO asked anxiously.

"It jumped in close enough to hand out Saturnalia cards, and then it blew the relay to bits! One of the pickets escaped, but several of the Raiders were caught in the wash, and the rest were so confused that they all but begged us to put them out of their misery!"

"Did they respond to our transponder signals?'

"Negative on that … I've got another half dozen frequencies for D'Anna to cross off the list."

"Well done, Boomer. Now, get your birds rearmed and refueled. I want Sharon and Adonis to supervise the next strike … skids up in sixty-five."

Hoshi turned to Racetrack, who had made the long hike to the control center to deliver her report.

"Boomer reports complete success. So, tell Angela to stand down. We'll let the Raiders carry out the next operation."

"Angela won't be happy about this," Racetrack protested. "She really likes sticking it to the Cavils."

"Don't we all? Maggie, the transponders failed, but Boomer says that her Raiders still didn't encounter so much as a token resistance. We need to find out whether she just got lucky, or whether the Cavils haven't programmed the whole of their rear echelon forces to fight our birds. The quickest way to discover what's going on out there is to invert the order of battle …"

"I see where you're going with this," Margaret cut in. "You want me to send out a couple of squads of our Raiders, and see whether the other side will make nice. Ah … what'll we do if they kind of … you know … ask us to adopt them?"

"There's no such thing as too many Raiders," the Eight who had chosen the name Miranda called out from her station at the weapons console.

"But if they're armed with missiles, won't it be a little risky to let them approach the ship?"

"Captain," Natalie smiled, "sometimes you have to roll the Hard Six."

"Okay … I'll send the stealth Raider in after we figure out what's going on. I'll tell Angela that we need to let the blackbird's engines cool down … but can I promise her that she can lead the attack on the resurrection server? I really think a Cylon should do the honors, and no one on this ship has worked harder to earn the privilege. I want Rockin' Robin to fly this mission."

"It's the CAG's responsibility to make these calls," Natalie observed. Her smile was still in place because Racetrack was standing up for her cylon pilot. The admiral had repeatedly emphasized the importance of unit cohesion, and he had taught her some of the often subtle ways in which a commanding officer could promote camaraderie in the ranks.

_The marines have all sworn an oath never to leave a man behind,_ she mused, _but that could just as well be the Eights' motto. This fleet may be operating behind enemy lines for months, and our people will have to depend upon one another in the same way that Sharon and Helo did on Caprica. Hopefully, we'll get the same results …_

"So, we'll go with your recommendation, Captain. In the meantime, we'll use the stream to send orders to the Raiders."

Racetrack stood to attention, saluted her two superiors, and then hastened back to the hangar deck. Kat had logged more hours working with Raiders than any other human in the fleet, and she would direct the only integrated strike in the day's mission orders—against the seventh and last of the communication relays in this sector of space. Margaret hoped personally to attend the festivities because she had a lot of catching up to do, and she knew it.

_But right now,_ she thought, _I've got to bring my pilots down off their adrenaline highs. I don't want them to burn out and have to start popping stims. Now, how would Lee handle this situation?_

. . .

"Captain, we don't get a lot of company out here. It's good to see you again."

Apollo looked across the table at Aphrodite and Artemis Fears, and chuckled knowingly. "Stallion, a lot of guys, including yours truly, would say that you've found paradise. You're married to two of the most beautiful women in the universe … you've got a tropical island to call your very own … it just doesn't get any better than this!"

Hephaestus sat back and regarded his fellow pilot. It felt like he had known Lee Adama for a lifetime, although it had in fact only been three years. "Well," he countered affectionately, "we do have to share the place with four full squads of centurions. They're handy to have around, but I've gotta say that teaching them how to play Triad was a big mistake. Do you have any idea how hard it is to play cards with someone who doesn't have any tells?"

"Lee, how's our sister?"

"Creusa's getting bigger every day," he said proudly; "bigger, and more beautiful. But she's got to the point where she needs to be careful when she turns around. Last night, she didn't give herself enough maneuvering room—and a lamp paid the ultimate price!"

Apollo leaned across the table, and clasped Aphrodite's hand. "You look wonderful," he added. "How far along are you?"

"Exactly 125 days," she answered.

Lee rapidly ran the numbers in his head. "Eighteen weeks," he calculated; "almost half way there." He pointed a finger at his host, and shook it in warning. "Stallion, right now you should get as much sleep as you can because, believe me, in a few more weeks you are most definitely going to need it."

"Rumor has it that you had to quit the service 'cause you couldn't keep up," Hephaestus good naturedly retorted. "Maybe you older guys should stay away from Sixes."

"For once, the rumor mill had it dead right," Lee confessed. "But take it from a guy whose wife is _thirty_-_one_ weeks along … you, my friend, are living in the literal eye of the storm."

"Apollo, what makes you think that our husband has time to rest?" Artemis stood up, and went round refilling everyone's cup. When she put the teapot back on the table, she wrapped her arms around Stallion's chest, and bent down to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "The centurions," she coyly remarked, "keep him _very_ busy."

"I thought this place pretty much ran itself," Lee commented.

"It's the salt air," Hephaestus pointed out. "It corrodes everything. And don't even ask me about the sand. It gets into their servos, and clogs up the works. The maintenance schedule around here is a killer."

"So, where did you erect the cylon DRADIS dish?"

"Right where you would expect: on top of the mountain. It's over five hundred meters high, with an unobstructed 360 degree view. Right now, we're tracking everything that comes down from orbit. If the Cylons do come back, we'll be ready for them."

"Do you have enough missile batteries?"

"That's why there are so many centurions stationed here. Appearances can be deceptive, Lee; this place is already a fortress, and it's becoming more so every day. There are caves galore in the cliff face, and Artemis has the troops widening the mouths so that they can accommodate entire squads of Raiders. Your dad's quietly slipping them past the bean counters … you know, two and three here, two and three there? By this time next week, we'll have eighteen … maybe twenty of them … squirreled away."

"Before we're done," Artemis went on, "we should be able to house two full battalions of centurions in the caves. We have enough firepower to hold off five times that number—or to recapture New Caprica City if it comes to that."

"Then we're in great shape," Lee summarized. "I don't want to go into details, but once you get off the coastal plain there are a lot of places where we can conceal our assets. The climate in the delta region really sucks, so I guess it's not surprising that some of our people want to leave … move up to higher elevations. Baltar is actively encouraging outmigration, and he's using some of our heavy equipment to dig wells, put up houses … that sort of thing. It's all pretty basic, but there's a lot of people and machinery moving around, and I'm using it as cover. We're gradually sending some of our marines and pilots up into the mountains, reducing our presence at the airfield, and building supply dumps in places where the Cavils aren't likely to look. Unless they nuke the whole planet, we can survive the loss of New Cap City."

"Are Cylons taking part in this redeployment?"

"Sixes and Eights," Apollo said with a smile. "The Eights seem especially keen."

"They're huntresses." Artemis glanced meaningfully at her sister. "Game during the day, and men at night," she sarcastically noted.

"And most Sixes relish a good fight," Aphrodite quickly added. "If you expect to be boxed, being trapped in the city doesn't have much appeal."

"Listen, I'm just glad that your sisters are on our side," Lee said with real conviction. "Have you heard about Anthia? A couple of weeks ago, she mixed it up with four of the gangbangers running with the Sons of Ares. When the dust settled, three of them were in the hospital …"

. . .

"Colonel, can I have a word?"

Kara didn't bother to turn around. She studied the mural, which now covered more than half the bulkhead in her cabin. There was something about the stars … something about the pattern … that was wrong. She couldn't _see_ it, but she could _feel_ it. This wasn't the way to Earth.

"What is it, Anders? Or do you prefer me to call you 'gramps'?"

"Come on, Kara; my name's Sam. If it's not too much trouble …"

"Don't like that name," Kara rudely fired back. "So, why don't I call you Sammy instead?"

"Fine … whatever," Sam shrugged. He had been warned that his granddaughter could be as cranky as a one year old, and on her best days behaved like a spoilt brat.

"We've been out five days now, and so far we've deviated from our base course to investigate seven different but equally worthless star systems. Kara, people are beginning to wonder what the hell's going on. It might be a good idea for you to bring the crew into the loop."

"You're our patriarch, Sammy … our grand poo-bah. Why don't you bring them into the loop?"

"_Because I don't have a frakkin' clue what you're doing,"_ Sam angrily noted.

"Well, just tell them that the Guide is guiding … you know … leading them to their appointed end?"

"Kara, don't do this …"

Kara threw her paint brush onto the deck in disgust, and finally turned around to face her unwelcome visitor. She glared at him, hands on hips, spoiling for a fight.

"Two things, Sammy: first, the cylon Earth is gonna turn out to be a real disappointment. You know it, and I know it. But _they_ won't believe it until they see it with their own eyes." Kara nodded in the direction of the _Adriatic's _cockpit, which was staffed by a mixed crew of humans, Cylons, and centurions. "And second, if the Cavils show up, we'll have to evacuate New Caprica on very short notice. Who knows how much food or fuel we'll have to leave behind. So, I'm looking for a refuge—a place where we can pause to catch our breath. A planet with a five star hotel would be nice, but I'll settle for a rock with some of the basics … little things like tylium and pork chops. Catch my drift?"

"Makes sense," Sam conceded. He stepped around Kara, and examined the mural. It was dominated by a huge planet—a gas giant with brightly colored clouds, layer after layer of them. But there was an ugly brown blob that drew the eye away from the intricately patterned striations, and somehow Sam knew that it was a violent storm in the upper atmosphere—a storm that could have easily swallowed any of the Colonial worlds. Not even Ragnar could have held out against this monster.

Sam took note of the paint cans open at his feet. It was obvious that Kara had raided one of _Galactica's _maintenance lockers, and generously helped herself to its contents. He reckoned that the _Adriatic_ would run out of walls before Kara ran out of paint.

"This is impressive," Sam remarked. "The brown spot … is it a storm of some kind?"

"Yeah … an anticyclonic storm; the epicenter is 22 degrees above the equator."

"I don't remember ever seeing a gas giant like this one. What system is it in?"

"Don't know," Kara answered with a frown. She stared pensively at her creation. "It's not Ragnar … it's no place I've ever been."

"_What?" _Sam rocked back on his heels. "Do you mean to tell me that you _imagined_ this?"

"No … it's real, and we've got to go there."

"Go where, Kara? Where is this place?"

"I don't know, Sammy. That's the honest to gods truth … I haven't got a gods damned frakking clue. But I can feel it. Now that we're away from the nebula, I can't get it out of my head. But it's kind of vague … sort of like what John experiences when our sisters are thousands of light years away."

"The moons are right," she murmured. She grabbed two new brushes, and deftly added a gaseous flare to the picture—a monstrous tongue of blue-orange flame that reached out from the gas giant to lick one of the many moons slaved to its orbit. "But the stars are _wrong_. I just don't know why."

"Kara … stop and think. The star pattern: is this what you saw when you were inside the tomb of Athena?"

"That's the problem. It's like I'm standing on Earth and looking up at the heavens. I see _this_. Then I close my eyes, and when I open them again I see something else … something totally different. The best way I can describe it is … it's like a stack of fine tissue paper. You know … the transparent stuff that people use when they're wrapping presents? There are stars on each sheet, but I can only see the whole. It's all jumbled together; I can't figure out what goes where."

"But this … it may seem weird to you, Sammy, but this is where we have to go. If it helps, try thinking of it as just one more of those half-assed hybrid things. We have to find this world. This is where we've got to go."

. . .

"_The countdown resumes. All functions nominal; the board is green. Intelligent vibrations fluctuate within heuristic patterns that delimit the chaos of creation. The board is green. The flower inside the fruit is both its parent and its child. The children of the makers will not hurt their own. End of line. Reset. The sensor relay in communications grid Alpha 1426 has failed. The sensor relay in communications grid Echo 1426 has failed. The children of the makers will not hurt their own. The sensor relay in communications grid Bravo 1426 has failed. The sensor relay in communications grid Golf 1426 has failed. Yea, though he may walk through the shadows in the valley of death, the Deliverer illumines the path. Detecting anomalies in the FTL particle sequencer: the count is now on hold. Milo, it's a shakedown cruise, so what do you expect? End of line. Reset. Consulting the repair manual …"_

"_Will you just shut the frak up," _Cavil screamed. He was in a towering rage, and desperately in need of something to break. The hybrid's incessant ramblings had kicked his blood pressure up to the point where a short circuit in his synaptic relays was a dire possibility.

"Are you sure that we don't have any humans left in cold storage," Cavil pressed his younger sibling. "Just one would be enough … _just one_!"

"Sorry, brother," Cavil soothed, "but we're fresh out. Why don't you go for a walk? You could always take out your frustrations on the Three," he suggested helpfully.

"_Page FE-5, step one: disconnect the attached hose and wiring. Step two: simultaneously release the three tangs while pulling the pump out of the retainer. Query: how many centurions does it take to remove the pump? Answer: how many centurions do we have on board? Warning! WARNING! The distillates in tylium processor WR7LV16 have cracked along the contrary axis. The proud ship sails inside a walnut shell, but the count is still on hold. End of line. Reset. The communications grid in sensor relay Foxtrot 1426 has failed. The communications grid in sensor relay Charlie 1426 has failed. Handmaidens dance attendance on the rites of spring, circling the maypole that sprouts from the fermented toadstool. The communications grid in sensor relay Delta 1426 has failed. All communications from grid 1426 have ceased. Emergency rerouting of the stream through bypass links in sector SCD 2426 awaits authorization. End of line. Reset. Authorization granted; repairs now proceeding. The communications failure in sector NCD 1426 stands uncorrected …"_

"Every ship in the fleet is receiving the same report," Cavil worriedly remarked. "The hybrids are telling us that all seven stations in sector NCD 1426 have been taken off line."

"A particle storm … it's got to be a gamma burst."

"I'm afraid not, brother. This little catastrophe took place inside a 198 minute window."

"_What?" _Cavil ran the problem through his onboard processors. "Is this somebody's idea of a joke? That's six jumps, at thirty-three minute intervals."

The younger version of Cavil was pacing back and forth, deep in thought. "Adama appears to be getting a bit frisky in his old age. The pattern of attack suggests that he's dispatched a single baseship to nip at our heels, and that's consistent with what we're hearing from the few surviving Raiders …"

"It has to be Natalie," the senior Cavil raged. He was absolutely livid. "The bitch is sending us a message, and she's doing it with a vengeance … thirty-three minute intervals, indeed."

"Natalie is the least of our problems," Cavil snorted. "Haven't you been paying close attention brother? The hybrids are swooning over the Abomination. Listen."

"_Integrity testing of deck 53 completed. An overload in air filtration unit 14733621 has tripped the master fuse at junction 12B78Y. This is getting old. Secondary power relays in the booster coils nursing the fourth aerie have failed. The fledglings require immediate nourishment. End of line. Reset. The child twice born to man and machine from the womb expelled to the womb has returned. The communications failure in sector NCD 1426 stands uncorrected …"_

"_Bierns," _the One hissed. "He's finally come out of hiding!"

"Yes … the spider at the center of the hybrid web has most definitely reemerged—and he's feeding on our lines of communication. It looks as if Adama has decided to wage a classic guerilla war, in which case Bierns will go after the supply ships next. It's just a matter of time."

"Well, we can't let up. We have to root out the humans and take down their fleet, but at the same time we simply cannot afford to lose contact with the Hub or the Colony. So, our hands are tied. We'll have to reposition our forces … divide them up."

"May I point out that, even with the three new baseships, we're already stretched dangerously thin."

"Yeah … and now the frakkin' hybrids are behaving like a bunch of fangirls in search of their first orgasm. _Damn it all! We had our foot on the throat of humanity, and we failed to step down hard enough!_"

. . .

"_I'm hit! I'm hit! Oh, frak me … my attitude control is shot to hell, and I can't even cycle the frakkin' ordnance!"_

"BB, try and stay calm! If you can't save the bird, then you'll have to eject. Once your transponder activates, the S&R Raptor will pick you up." Racetrack struggled to keep her own voice calm and businesslike; she sensed that her nugget was poised on the sharp edge of panic. She had already lost one pilot this day; she didn't want to lose another.

"_No! No! I've still got thrusters; I can save the bird. Just keep those mother frakkers off me."_

"BB, I've got your six." Danny Novacek knew what Racetrack was doing, and he tried to emulate her. "I want you to use your thrusters. Make the turn, and head back to the barn. When you get close enough, shut down, and we'll send a Heavy Raider out to tow you into the bay."

"_I'm on it! I'm on it!"_

"_Holy Mother of Zeus!" _Captain Emmanuelle Bronte was the lead pilot for Red Squadron. She had seen a lot of action in the early days of the war, when Helena Cain had been hell bent on attacking every Cylon facility in deep space, and she was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this mission._ "Baseship, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"_

"Affirmative," Hoshi curtly responded. He was watching the DRADIS screen, which was suddenly lighting up with scores of new contacts. "Another three hundred Raiders have just jumped in." He looked at Natalie, who was immersed in the stream. Her eyes were closed, and he knew that she was sending more of their own Raiders into the fray. "Help is on the way, Puppet. Just watch your backs out there."

"Were you expecting this," Louis quietly asked the Two, who was standing on the opposite side of the console.

The baseship had come out of jump, to find a full flight of one hundred Raiders nesting around the server node. Angela's reconnaissance flight in the blackbird had told them what lay in wait, and Margaret Edmondson had decided to commit both of her Viper squadrons to the battle, but only fifty Raiders. Natalie was confident that some of the enemy fighters would make good their escape, and she wanted to leave them with the impression that the baseship was still understrength.

"No," Leoben freely admitted. "There is no data in the stream relevant to the defense of the servers, but I did not anticipate this. Cavil is either very clever, or we were unlucky enough to attack a node located within easy jump range of a staging area."

"Ultimately," Natalie pointed out, "it doesn't really matter. This attack is putting the Ones on notice; they will move quickly to reinforce the nodes, and that works to our advantage. They have no strategic reserve, so they can only strengthen the resurrection network by drawing down their forces elsewhere. We will take what they give us."

"Still," D'Anna objected, "it is unfortunate that we were forced to show our hand. Now Cavil will have a much better picture of our true strength."

The telephone buzzed once more. Hoshi picked up the receiver, listened for a second, and then hung up.

"Racetrack has cleared Angela for her attack run. She'll go weapons hot in forty seconds. The Vipers are already withdrawing."

Natalie returned to the stream, and began rapidly issuing orders to the Raiders. There was a kilogram of highly refined, weapons grade tylium sitting on the tip of each of Angela's six missiles. Instead of being housed in pods slung beneath the wings, the missiles were buried inside the blackbird's carbon composite skin, which dramatically reduced the stealth ship's potential DRADIS signature. The missiles wouldn't trigger any radiological alarms, but the warheads would yield the equivalent of a sixty kiloton nuclear detonation. The Six wanted to make sure that her birds were well outside the blast radius.

Angela sighted in on the target, and brought two missiles on line. One would probably do the job, but the Cylons had always believed in overkill.

_The third time's most definitely the charm,_ she laughed to herself as for the third time this day she disarmed the warhead safeties. She engaged the wireless, which was set to the command frequency, and broadcast the code phrase that had now become her favorite piece of music.

"_Go rockin' robin … 'cause we're really gonna rock tonight!" _

. . .

"_Data-font synchronization completed. System performance is nominal. Server storage capacity remains optimal. Of course, the flutter of a lone butterfly's wings must inevitably upset the best laid plans of mice and men. A retraction is in order. Server node 141 has failed. The communications failure in sector NCD 1426 stands uncorrected …"_

The two Cavils looked at one another in horrified disbelief.

"Has Natalie lost her mind?" John Cavil could barely summon up the words.

"_If resurrection fails, death would be permanent for all of us!"_


	9. Chapter 9: The Boneyard

**On December 12****th****, 1951, four squadrons of Banshees, Grumman Panthers, Corsairs and Skyraiders flew off the deck of the USS Essex to bomb a series of narrow gauge railroad bridges near Majonne, a village in the central area of North Korea. The night before the strike, the four squadron commanders sat down to dinner with the novelist James Michener. He made the events of 12/12/51 the centerpiece of one of his most textured novels, which later appeared on the screen as **_**The Bridges of Toko-Ri**_**. The Battle of the Boneyard, which takes place on day 355, is my salute to the pilots of Air Group 5, and to the deck crews who kept them flying in that most bitter of winters on the Sea of Japan. **

CHAPTER NINE

THE BONEYARD

"_Multiple DRADIS contacts," _Ponytail yelled from her seat at the navigation console. "They're cylon Raiders, and they're not ours!"

"Sam, go find Kara, and get her up here now!" Luke Hammond was the OOD on this watch, but Kara was the one who would have to decide whether they would flee or fight.

"How many, and where are they?" Miriam was standing over Deitra Symonds' shoulder, but the Six couldn't pick out the targets. The _Adriatic_ had jumped deep into a star system whose asteroid belt was rich in nickel and iron. They were skirting the inner edge of the belt, but electromagnetic interference from the nearest of the system's two gas giants had muddied the DRADIS image.

"I've confirmed three so far, but they're at extreme range … on the other side of the belt."

"Are you certain they're not ghosts," Luke asked as he came up to stand alongside the Cylon. "I don't have to remind you that the DRADIS has been acting up all day."

"Somehow, I don't think that we're gonna get that lucky." Deitra tapped the screen. "They're closing on a constant bearing."

"But they're not heading straight for us," Miriam said optimistically. "They're probably scouts, exploring systems in advance of the main fleet. If they're here to look for resources, the asteroid belt would be the logical place to begin. Once they discover that there's no tylium around here, they'll probably move on."

"Ponytail, what have we got," Kara said as she rushed into the ship's small control room.

"Three Raiders, CBDR, and closing fast. They should reach the belt in less than four minutes."

"Mom, what do you think?"

"Right now, our power emissions are minimal, so they may miss us. But if we launch Vipers or spool up the FTL's, they'll know we're here."

"_Frak! _All the fuel that we're carrying in the auxiliary tanks makes us sitting ducks. One round in the wrong place, and they'd need tweezers to pick up the pieces."

Kara studied the screen, praying that the cylon fighters would change their heading and put more distance between them. In the three weeks since departing New Caprica, she had jumped the _Adriatic_ into nineteen different systems. They had yet to find water or tylium, and only twice had they stumbled upon a planet in the CHZ. Both had possessed methane atmospheres—with trace elements of still deadlier toxins.

"Three minutes," Deitra warned.

"Kara, I need two to spin up the drives," Sam reminded her. He had resumed his seat, and was double-checking the emergency jump coordinates.

Kara thought about her options. She had two missile batteries at her disposal, and there were three Vipers, two Raiders, and one Heavy Raider magnetically sealed to the hull. She could hear Starbuck whispering seductively in her ear, urging her to stand her ground and blow the frakkers out of the sky. But Kara Thrace Six knew better.

"Right," she said decisively, "we're getting out of here. Sam, spool up the FTL's."

"I'm on it."

Kara's eyes were glued to the DRADIS, but in her mind she was silently ticking off the seconds. Just how quickly would the Raiders respond? How accurate were their electronic sweeps?

It took less than thirty seconds. On the DRADIS, the three enemy craft abruptly shifted course. They were now heading straight for the _Adriatic_.

"The drive's spun up," Sam shouted; "we're at one hundred percent and stable."

"Swordsman, take us around the horn."

"Sublight," Luke called out.

"Go."

"Helm."

"Go."

"Nav."

"Jump solution checks," Ponytail confirmed. Nav is a go."

"Tactical."

"Go."

"FTL"

"Good to go," Sam barked.

"Colonel, the board is green," Hammond reported.

"Then execute jump," Kara intoned, "in five … four … three … two … one …"

"_Jump!"_

"_Maybe next time,"_ Luke muttered to himself; _"maybe next time."_ But Swordsman had been flying Raptors for a long time, and he knew the odds. The galaxy was an inhospitable desert, and the few oases were scattered far apart. Running into the cylons was a hundred times more likely than finding a world that could support human life.

. . .

Bill Adama walked slowly down the darkened and deserted corridor. Once, it had been littered with crates—supplies too urgently needed to warrant housing them in the deserted storerooms on the lower decks. But the supplies had been just as badly needed on the surface of New Caprica: with the passage of time, the old battlestar and the baseship had both been picked clean.

The admiral paused, and bent down to pick up a wad of discarded paper. Curious, he opened it up, and walked over to stand under one of the working fluorescent lamps. Several weeks earlier, he had ordered two out of every three lights on the ship to be turned off, not to conserve energy but to extend the life of the bulbs themselves. The ship still had spares in store, but the number was finite, and there would come a day when the last bulb would blow. Manufacturing replacements was not exactly high on the beleaguered government's to-do list.

Adama snorted involuntarily. It was an old laundry list, and how after all this time it had ended up in the middle of one of _Galactica's_ corridors was one of those questions for which there would never be an answer.

He studied the sheet, and noted with a smile that the duty had fallen on this particular day to Diana Seelix. He remembered one of the more outspoken knuckle-draggers bitching and moaning that Seelix had it in for him … that she had somehow bribed the laundry detail to add so much starch to his underpants that they could stand on their own.

_And now Seelix and Figurski are both serving on Natalie's baseship. I wonder how that's working out …_

The admiral resumed walking, and when he went round the bend in the corridor, he saw one of the Eights up on a ladder. The strip lamp was flickering on and off, and he could see that she was trying to isolate the problem.

"Good morning, Amy; what do you hear?"

"Nothing but the rain," the Eight grinned; "but today, we've got lightning to go with the thunder."

"So I see. What's the latest disaster?"

"Corrosion," she replied simply. "Admiral, it's like this all over the ship. The filters didn't get changed out regularly, so humidity and dust have been attacking the electrical circuitry from one end of the bucket to the other. I've got enough fingernail files and sandpaper to get on top of the problem, but it's going to take me several more weeks to get the job done."

"You're not doing this by yourself, are you?" Adama had let a lot of regulations go by the boards, but he had also instituted a few new ones. Routine maintenance was supposed to be performed by cylon and human crew working together—and to this rule he was not prepared to tolerate exceptions.

"No, sir; there's six of us hard at it. But it's a big ship."

"_Galactica's _a grand old lady," Bill proudly remarked. "There's a lot of history on these decks, Amy … a lot of history … and a lot of ghosts."

"Ghosts, sir?"

"Yeah … ghosts. There are times when I'm certain that Commander Nash is staring over my shoulder. And Lieutenant McGavin … every time I see a pair of boots sitting outside a hatchway combing, I think of Jaycie."

"Did you serve with them, sir? In the War of Independence?"

Adama nodded. "I'm Nash's replacement … several times removed. And Jaycie … she was a Raptor pilot. She was severely wounded on the last day of the war. She didn't make it."

Amy looked sympathetically at the Old Man. She now knew where some of the many lines on his face had come from.

"The War of Independence," the admiral added. "Is that what you call the first war … the War of Independence?"

"Yes, sir."

Bill nodded a second time. "And with good reason," he went on. "Back then, we were all so sure of ourselves … so self-righteous. We shouted down the few civilian voices that dared to question, dared to doubt. You were machines, so how could you possibly think of yourselves as slaves? I was so consumed by hate that I never questioned the justice of our cause for one second. Now, when I look back … it's humiliating to realize that none of us were willing to stand up and take responsibility for the consequences of our actions. Graystone and Vergis … the big conglomerates made such convenient scapegoats."

"You were fighting for your survival, Admiral … just like us. Ours may have been the more just cause, but in war … does it really matter?"

"I suppose not, but I'm glad that I lived long enough for us to have this conversation, Amy … and I'm glad that you're on this ship. Maybe now, we can finally put the ghosts to rest."

"I hope so, Admiral. Every day, I pray to the One True God for a world at peace. It's the only legacy that any of us want to leave our children."

"Do you want me to talk to Chief Laird … get you some more help?"

"No, Admiral; that's okay."

"Well, why don't I grab a ladder and help you myself? It's not like I have a lot to do these days."

The smile that lit up the Eight's face was genuine and deep. The Old Man's love for his ship was something that the Cylons talked about among themselves. The admiral had taught them all that love wore many faces.

"Admiral, your wife is waiting for you in the CIC," Amy obliquely replied.

Adama smiled yet again. In her own very gentle way, Amy had just reminded him that he was going to be busy for the rest of his life.

. . .

_Only the Cylons would mothball a fleet in such a godforsaken hellhole!_

Captain Louanne Katraine snorted derisively as she continued to study the reconnaissance photos that Angela Eight had amassed on her fly-by through the Acheron system. This was the unofficial designation for an A class star in NCD 382, a desolate region of space on the fringes of the Prolmar sector. The blue giant had such an intense heat signature that only one planet had managed to form inside its gravity well—a tiny, rust red ball whose most noteworthy feature were the craters carved out by the thousands of meteors that had impacted its surface. The Cylons had discovered the planet some twenty-five years before the attacks, and they had quickly begun to mine the huge deposits of iron ore that lay so readily to hand. A huge, heavily automated manufacturing and processing center had followed in short order. It was situated on the south rim of one of the deepest craters, and Kat reckoned that any facility large enough to require two entire battalions of centurions was going to be bristling with anti-aircraft missile batteries. Her squadrons would take them out before leveling the target, which would clear the way for the second and more critical phase of the operation to get under way. The Cavils had parked all of the FTL capable craft that the Cylons had captured during the first war at the bottom of the crater. Most of the ships were antiquated relics, but there was an Aesculapius class hospital ship in the mix that would nicely complement the _Rising Star_, and it was well worth the time and effort that would be needed to recapture it.

The _Delos_ was the centerpiece of the entire mission, but Louanne knew that there was a second ship down on the surface that, for personal reasons, Adama wanted very badly. The Cylons had taken the _Diana _in the last days of the war, and they had set the passengers and crew of the moldering old Gemenese freighter aside for the medical experiments that had eventually yielded the first generation hybrid known as the Guardian. Taking the _Diana_ back to New Caprica and handing it over to the civilian government would powerfully remind everyone that the men and women of the Colonial fleet never forgot those whom they were sometimes forced to leave behind … and never gave up on a mission.

. . .

"Jump complete," Ponytail called out; "and we're right on the money. There's a dwarf planet one light minute off the bow. The composition reads … well, well, well …"

Deitra Symonds swiveled around to face Kara and Luke, and she had a big grin on her face. "Ladies and gentlemen, break out your swimsuits because … _we have just found water_! The dwarf is one giant ice cube!"

"Sweet mother of Artemis," Melania protested from her seat at the tactical station; "how did we get so lucky? What do you think, Sam? Did you expect to find an iceberg only twenty systems coreward of the nebula?"

The moment she had learned that Sam Anders would be leading Kara Thrace's expedition to cylon Earth, Melania Peripolides had rushed to secure a billet on the _Adriatic_. Back in the Colonies, she had been attracted to the photogenic pyramid star turned resistance fighter at their first encounter. Sam's cylon nature had not discouraged her, nor had she shied away from competing openly with Caprica Six for his affections. A rather plain brunette, Melania would have been the first to admit that the angelically beautiful Cylon would easily eclipse any human rival—but only if she was stupid enough to fight on the statuesque blond's home turf. Melania had no such intention. Sam treasured family, and he wanted children. In this arena, Melania had all the advantages.

"Yeah, well … try not to get too excited," Kara remarked. "The Cylons will probably be crawling all over this system before the day is out—if they're not here already. Mom," she said to Miriam Six, "I want Spot and Rover to check out the neighborhood. Ponytail, let's catalog the coordinates for this ice ball, and store them in an encrypted file."

Miriam acknowledged her daughter's orders with a nod, and headed for the landing bay. Without a data stream or hybrid to fall back upon, the Cylons on the _Adriatic_ had to issue orders to the two Raiders manually. It was an awkward arrangement, but the Raiders' ability to blend in made them the ideal tools with which to scout a potentially hostile system.

"Deitra, put us in an elliptical orbit …. Say, twenty klicks above the surface. We might as well take a good, close look while we're here."

"Colonel, do you want to send the Heavy Raider out to collect samples?" Luke Hammond made it sound like a suggestion, but he knew that Kara Thrace was still new at this game; as her XO, it was his job to fill in the gaps.

"We'll wait for the Raiders to report in, but … yeah. If the system's clean, Rachel and Elektra can take a couple of the centurions down. They can use the exercise."

"Consider it done," Luke said as he picked up the phone. The two Sixes were camped out in the landing bay, which was where the two squads of centurions that they had brought along were permanently stationed. Unless a boarder chose to cut through the hull, there were only three ways onto the _Adriatic_—the landing bay, and two emergency exits. The ship's designers had also woven a number of choke points into the network of corridors that linked the cockpit with the engine room. The vessel had teeth, and it had been engineered to withstand a direct assault by the U-87's and series 5000 centurions.

_We may be the oddest exploratory force in the history of the universe, _Luke thought to himself, _but we're getting there. Our people have taken one another's measure, and the command routine is becoming more and more relaxed. Kara deserves a lot of the credit: thank the gods that Starbuck didn't make this trip!_

. . .

"All right, people! Settle down, and let's get to it!" Kat glared at the mix of human and Cylon pilots that made up her command, while she wondered yet again if her advancing pregnancy was responsible for her inability to impose some sense of military discipline upon their unruly ranks. A pregnant CAG was obviously an incongruous sight, and in her twenty-second week Louanne could no longer hide the dramatic bulge in her midsection.

Leoben put his hand in the stream, and the normally intense light on the hangar deck instantly dimmed.

"Caveman made one low level pass over the target. It was strictly a photo recon mission, and this was the result. Lieutenant, roll the film."

The pilots watched quietly as the Viper hugged the undulating surface of Tartarus. This was the name that one of the ECO's had given the hellishly red planet. It had caught on fast.

"I'm approaching from the north," Lieutenant Moore pointed out.

Suddenly, the Viper overflew an enormous crater, and the fighter's nose dipped dramatically. Dozens of colonial transports suddenly swam into view.

"Stop the film," Kat ordered.

She used a pointer to draw everyone's attention to one particular ship.

"We believe that this is the _Delos_," she commented; "a state-of-the-art hospital ship captured during the eighth year of the war. Recovering her intact is the primary objective of this mission. But somewhere down there we're also going to find an old freighter called the _Diana_. If we can fly her out of there, it will make the admiral one very happy man."

"Resume," she barked.

The Viper leveled off, and then began to climb. As it drew closer to the south wall of the crater, tracer fire began to streak out from dozens of emplacements deeply embedded in the cliff face. The pilot successfully evaded the antiaircraft barrage, only to run into a hornet's nest of missile batteries as he approached a large manufacturing plant on the south rim.

"It was at this point that the Cylons launched two surface-to-air missiles," Caveman calmly remarked. On the screen, the imagery began to twist and turn in violent contortions as the fighter went through a rapid series of gut-wrenching evasive maneuvers. "If they have Raiders, they didn't get involved."

"And that's the X factor in this mission," Louanne concluded. "So, here's what we're gonna do. A hundred Raiders will lead off. Their job is flak suppression. They will use missiles to try and take out every antiaircraft battery below the rim. Three Raptors will go in behind them, and finish off anything that escapes the first wave. Chinstrap … Tough Guy … Playboy … you've got the duty."

Rufus Ayers and Jared Dalton exchanged high fives. Hog's Breath may have been cursed with a hideous Aerilon accent, but Chinstrap's ECO reckoned that he could park a missile on a cubit. Both of them were eagerly looking forward to this mission.

"The Raiders will continue on to attack the processing plant. The rock has an atmosphere, so it's also got gravity, and we're gonna make it work for us. Our birds will make glide bombing runs against the missile batteries screening the installation. We'll be using proximity fuses set to detonate fifty feet in the air. The shrapnel should take out the DRADIS dishes; the Raiders will then engage what's left of the batteries themselves at point blank range, and neutralize them. At this point, they'll begin to carpet bomb the facility proper."

"Buster, I want you to take Red Team and patrol overhead. If the enemy does have Raiders down there, it will be your job to take them out. Stingray, Blue Team will provide close air support to the Raptors, and to the Heavy Raiders. Because of their superior armor and greater weight allowance, we're using the latter to ferry centurions down to the surface. They'll tag the two high value targets, and check them for booby traps. If time permits, the centurions will go through the whole boneyard and see what's of interest. The Sixes and Eights will fly our prizes out of the crater, and when we're done, a Raider will stand off and nuke whatever's left behind. Are there any questions?"

Kat looked around, but all she saw was a sea of expectant faces. This was a big step up from the steady diet of lightly defended comm relays that Natalie had fed them over the last three weeks. So far, they had been an irritant; today, however, they would prove that they were a force to be taken seriously.

"Skids up in sixty," the CAG yelled. She smiled wistfully at her husband; for his part, Leoben knew how badly his very determined human wife wanted to lead this particular charge herself. But it was not to be, and they both knew it.

. . .

"What's the matter, baby? Can't sleep?"

Sharon sat down on the couch, and leaned in to rest her head on Helo's shoulder. It was coming up on three in the morning.

"You should be in bed, not sitting out here wrestling with medical logs and police reports." The coffee table was buried under a sea of official paper.

"Did I wake you? If I did, I'm sorry."

"No … no … you were quiet. But when I sensed you were gone, I woke up instantly. The subroutines that respond to Hera's cries, or to you having a bad night, are pretty easy to trigger. So, what's up?"

"I don't like where this investigation is heading," Karl admitted. "Sergeant Hadrian is meticulous, and she went through the inventory of the drugs that are supposed to be under lock and key with a fine toothed comb. We're missing a lot of stuff, and I don't just mean the biophosphonate that was used to murder Cyrus Alyattes. Antibiotics, pain killers … Hadrian can't reconcile the paper trail with the contents of the medical stores lockers on either _Galactica _or the _Inchon Velle_. In both cases, security was a joke. A dozen different people on _Galactica_ had the combination to the safe, and on the _Inchon Velle_? The number's almost four times greater."

"Turn your shoulders," Sharon commanded when she sat up. When Karl obeyed, she began to knead his shoulders. He began to moan with pleasure, and he bent his head back as far as it would go.

"God, but you have the magic touch," Helo sighed. "Have you been taking lessons from the Six who runs the massage parlor, or do all Cylons have such knowing fingers?"

"It's a special program," Sharon said with an impish smile. "The Cavils restricted access to those of us who were tasked to seduce handsome, young fleet officers, and get ourselves pregnant in the process."

"Can't be a lot of those floating around the premises," Karl softly observed. His eyes were closed, and his shoulders were swaying back and forth as Sharon began to attack the knotted muscles at the base of her husband's neck.

"So, I guess we know why the black market was awash with prescription drugs," Sharon added. "Eric Phelan had at least one person on each ship in his back pocket. Have you talked to Six, or her people?"

"Yeah … I had a nice chat with Dino Panattes. He admitted that he had a pipeline into both civilian and military stores, but when I pressed him, he shut up fast. All I really got out of him was that he'd conducted an investigation of his own. He seems confident that none of his sources had anything to do with the Alyattes murder."

"Do you believe him?"

"I do, actually. The Six doesn't like it when people go around bumping off Sagittaron Elders. It's bad for business because it forces the authorities to shine a very bright light on her activities."

"So, crime lords … even cylon crime lords … don't like publicity?"

"Let's put it this way: I wouldn't expect Playa Palacios to have much luck trying to interview Six."

"All right, Shamus," Sharon growled into her husband's ear, "then give it to me straight: whodunit?"

"_What?" _Karl twisted around to stare into Sharon's eyes, which were filled with merriment.

"Laura Roslin loaned me her copy of _A Murder on Picon_. Helo, nothing beats a really good mystery when you're walking the floor with a cranky three month old … and Niles Archer really brings the docks of Penrose Harbor to life. I swear, you can almost taste the salt air, and his characters are so delightfully sinister. Noel Cairo is priceless!"

"Well, I sure wouldn't object to a little professional advice from Nick Taylo …"

"_Love and Bullets,"_ Sharon happily exclaimed. "I read it last week," she elaborated when she saw the confused look on Karl's face. "And maybe your perp read it too. You fished Cyrus Alyattes out of the river, and that's how _Love and Bullets_ begins—with a body fished out of Caprican Bay. Remember?"

"Dear God on high, I married a gumshoe!"

"I prefer the term 'amateur sleuth'. It sounds so much more dignified. Anyway, what are we dealing with here?" Sharon picked up one of the log books that Helo had deposited on the coffee table, and began idly to flip through the pages.

"I've been reviewing the old autopsy reports and medical logs … just looking for patterns. Some things leap right off the page, like the number of people that we've lost to cancers brought on by exposure to radiation. Then we have all the obvious homicides, which peaked when _Demand Peace_ tried to overthrow the government and half the fleet went temporarily crazy. Sharon, we've lost _a lot_ of people. The problem isn't the absence of patterns. The problem is that there are so damned many of them."

"Well, I don't think you're going to find the answer at three in the morning," she retorted. Suddenly, Sharon leaned in to kiss her husband softly on the lips. "Are you hungry," she whispered as she began to pull her top over her head.

Karl's eyes went wide with sudden understanding.

"Hera was in one of her moods tonight." Sharon's own eyes were wide and innocent. "She refused to latch on, and now I'm so heavy that I feel like I'm going to burst."

"We can't have that," Karl murmured as he threw off his tanks. He picked Sharon up, and carried her back to bed. He laid her out gently, and then crawled in beside her, their eyes never breaking contact.

Helo tenderly kissed his wife, and then his head drifted down to her full breasts. Her scent reminded him of buttermilk, which he vaguely remembered liking as a child. He strongly doubted, however, if it had ever tasted this good …

. . .

One hundred Raiders dropped out of their nests, took a few moments to get their bearings and form a wall, and then they charged off in the direction of the crater. The baseship had come out of jump a bare eight kilometers above the surface of Tartarus, and when Kat and Leoben emerged in their Raptor, they could clearly see the immense manufacturing plant in the distance.

While they watched, another fifty Raiders detached themselves from the ship, and circled around to shield the FTL's. Simultaneously, the ten Vipers that made up Buster Bayer's Red Team began to emerge from the hangar deck. They quickly formed up, and raced off to keep station directly above the enemy installation. In their wake, the three Raptors that had been tasked with mopping up whatever the Raiders missed headed towards the crater at a more leisurely pace.

"Louanne, you must be pleased with what you've accomplished," Leoben remarked as the various units went efficiently about their business. The deployment was once again proceeding with the precision of fine clockwork.

"I am," Kat agreed. "The Raiders work well with our pilots, but it's more than that. The deck crews are the finest I've ever seen. Day in and day out, Galen and Naomi … Jammer and Six … they keep everything flying. They have yet to miss a beat."

"You and Racetrack have trained us well," the Two observed. "And morale is very high."

"_There they go,"_ Chinstrap gleefully announced. Fifty of the Raiders plunged into the crater, with their transponders broadcasting Colonial recognition codes.

"Now comes the IFF challenge," Kat murmured more or less to herself. "And in another second or two …"

Tracer fire suddenly began to emerge from the heavy weapons embedded in the crater's south wall. The Raiders darted forward and danced away, playing an intricate game that not all of them managed to win. As Kat watched the battle unfold on her onboard DRADIS, three icons bloomed, and then vanished from her screen.

Standing off above the north rim, the second flight of fifty Raiders patiently scanned the cliff face. They were tracking the heat signatures of the various guns in the infrared, and once they had their locations pinpointed, they rushed to join the fray. As they dropped into the crater and brought their missiles on line, the surviving fighters from the first wave executed a steep vertical climb that left them several thousand feet above the cylon factory and its surrounding missile batteries. The two elements of Kat's alpha wing advanced on both targets simultaneously—and then they fired.

. . .

"_Frak," _Deitra shouted. "Multiple DRADIS contacts, extreme range, bearing 183, carom 014 … plot puts them dead on the ecliptic." Everyone in the control room could hear the frustration in Ponytail's voice.

"These guys just won't take 'no' for an answer, Melania laughed. "Colonel, be advised that the sublights are set for station keeping. Our power emissions are minimal, but we are not invisible."

"Nav," Kara snapped, "are we still coasting in the planetary shadow?"

"Confirmed," Ponytail answered after she quickly double checked _Adriatic's_ orbital track. "Our nose is just peeking out, but the forward sensor array is hot. If nothing else, we're probably going to arouse their curiosity."

Kara nodded sharply in response, and then thumbed her mike button. "Mom, we've got more uninvited company." She waited for Rachel to acknowledge. "That's right," she continued; "it's another scouting party. Hell, for all we know, it's the same three mother frakkers that we ran into in the last system."

"Are you going to fight, or do you want us to pack it up down here?"

_I want to fight … you don't know how badly I want to take it to these assholes! _

Kara took a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm. When she had accepted the responsibility of command, she had also accepted the many layers of frustration that went with the job. Over the past several hours, she had developed a healthy appreciation for what Adama had been going through day in and day out since the flight from the Colonies. Husker still lived inside the Admiral in the same way that Starbuck still lived inside Kara Thrace Six. The warrior wanted blood—but a commander had to weigh other priorities.

"Pack it up," she sighed. "Get back to the barn ASAP, but don't drift beyond the planetary mass. They haven't found us yet, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Do you want me to bring the missile batteries on line," the Sharon who was currently working the tactical station inquired.

"No," Kara reluctantly answered. "If they spot us, Cavil will know that we were here. But if we take out his birds, they'll download … and we get the same result. The fleet won't be able to use this water hole if the bastards stake it out, which is a given if they find us in the system. So, we tiptoe out of here, and hope for the best."

"Deitra, lock in the next set of jump coordinates," Luke ordered. "Confirm that nav is a go."

Ponytail's fingers danced across the keys on the nav computer; the young ECO didn't need to be reminded that one misplaced digit in the twelve string code could land them inside a nearby sun. Fleet lore was filled with tales of marooned pilots and ships long vanished.

"Jump solution checks," she said for the second time this day. "Nav is a go."

"Six, what's your ETA," Luke asked as he cut into the comm channel.

"Ninety seconds to clear the surface, but we need four minutes to make hard seal."

"Rachel, we may not have five minutes. Stand by … nav is forwarding the updated jump coordinates _now_."

"I'm on it," Ponytail yelled. She brought up the file, and transmitted it directly to the Heavy Raider's own nav computer. Without turning away from her screens, she waved one hand in the air to signal a successful download.

"Confirm receipt of jump coordinates," Swordsman whispered. He never took the interface between the _Adriatic's _computer systems and their predominately organic cylon counterparts for granted.

"Jump coordinates are punched in," Elektra replied a few moments later. "The centurions are closing the ramp now."

In his mind, Luke Hammond ran the sequence. The centurions would batten down the hatch, and then they would step into niches designed to cushion their frame during lift off. It would only take a few seconds …

"ETA two minutes," Elektra called out.

"Hard seal in three minutes," Luke announced. The XO was talking to Sam Anders, but he was staring at Kara's back. The hybrid was standing over Ponytail's shoulder; they were both tracking the enemy scouts as they advanced deeper into the system.

"They're not changing course," Deitra murmured. "It looks like they're going to stay on the solar plane, and follow it right down into the CHZ."

"Scanning us on the way by?" Kara pondered her options. "Luke, tell Rachel to hug the surface, and to move with us as we go. Helm, ease us forward one-third; I want to keep this overgrown ice cube between us and the Raiders."

As the three enemy fighters continued to drop down the gravity well, the _Adriatic_ and its Heavy Raider hatchling carried out one minor course correction after another, all of them designed to keep the planetoid's bulk between the two forces. Ten long minutes passed before Kara finally signaled Rachel and Elektra to bring their ship home.

"I've had it with this crap," Kara announced. Arms folded, she was wandering around the control room, waiting impatiently for Rachel to announce hard seal. She looked over at Luke Hammond. "When we come out of jump, we'll return to our base course. No matter how promising, I've decided to skip the next dozen systems."

Sam Anders, who had been listening closely, swiveled around to look thoughtfully at his granddaughter. "Kara, there's another nebula a thousand or so light years ahead of us. The shape reminded us of a lion's head, so that's what we called it … the Lion's Head Nebula. It has an eye …"

"Of course," Miriam exclaimed. _"And the caravan of the heavens was watched over by a great lion with a mighty blinking eye."_

"The Book of _Pythia_," the Six added by way of explanation. She knew that Kara had never shown much interest in scripture. "The scrolls tell us that the thirteenth tribe used the lion's head as a navigational marker on the journey to what became cylon Earth."

"In reality," Sam interjected, "the 'mighty blinking eye' is a system of red and blue eclipsing binary pulsars. They're easy to spot, which is undoubtedly why my forebears left a beacon there."

"A beacon … for what?" Kara couldn't see the point.

"There's a data storage unit inside the buoy. Think of it as an annotated roadmap, Kara. Once you access it, it tells you how to reach Kobol, and what resources can be found along the way."

"And going the other way?"

Sam smiled knowingly. "Let's just say that it lays out quite precisely the course that the thirteenth proposed to follow … a course that leads straight to the Lagoon Nebula."

"So, if the Cavils were to discover the beacon and unlock its secrets …"

"They would have a roadmap that would take them eighty-five percent of the way to our home world."

"Well, we can't have that, can we," Kara said brightly. "_So_ … I guess that we'd better find this beacon of yours, and let Rover and Spot use it for target practice!"

. . .

"Rufus, do you know what this kinda reminds me of?" Hog's Breath gestured expansively out the canopy of their Raptor. The two humans were hovering above the north rim of the crater, and they had a bird's eye view of the battle raging in its depths. The Raiders had fired hundreds of missiles at the anti-aircraft guns embedded in the south wall. Enemy ordnance had initially taken them out by the dozens, but the Raiders were relentless, and they kept pounding away at their chosen targets.

Chinstrap was studying the battle so intently that he did not even hear his ECO's question. His overall impression was that the Raiders were getting the job done, but with hundreds of missile contrails obscuring his view, it was hard to be sure.

"_Well, do you?"_

"No, Jared," the lieutenant finally sighed. He stole a glance at his ECO, and noted the pensive look on his face. "What _does_ this call to mind?"

"Back on Aerilon, we had a big, old barn out behind the house. And it was overrun with rats. Not those little, itty bitty field mice, mind you … I'm talking about _rats_! Anyways, daddy finally got fed up 'cause they were gobbling up all the feed … nipping at the hogs … know what I mean?"

"Sure," Chinstrap smiled. "So, what did your dad do?"

"He went into town … to the animal shelter. And he come back with this little rat terrier. Didn't look like much, but daddy swore that he'd get the job done. Anyways, daddy … he took this little rat terrier out to the barn, shoved him inside, and closed the door. When he came back two hours later, the whole center of the barn was covered with dead rats. It was like a carpet—a big, furry carpet. Being kind of curious about this sort of thing, daddy … he counted them up one by one. Turns out that little dog … he was just a regular rat killing machine."

"How many did he catch?"

"915 or thereabouts … sometimes, with all the blood and gore, it was a wee bit hard to tell. Anyways, the Raiders kind of remind me of that little ol' rat terrier. Once they get you in their sights, they don't never let go. So, it may take a while, but by the time our birds get done, that crater's gonna be pretty much rat free."

Rufus Ayres chuckled, and then, unable to help himself, he started to shake with laughter. Jared Dalton's homespun wisdom was vintage Aerilon, and it amused every human on the ship that the Eights now hung on his every word. Sharon Giffords had grown up on an Aerilon dairy farm, and Ellen Tigh had manipulated Sharon's DNA to create the last of her children. The discovery had struck a deeply responsive chord in their collective psyche, and in the aftermath hundreds if not thousands of Eights had developed an obsessive interest in what they now thought of as their home world. There were no dairy farmers in the fleet, but a hog farmer came awfully close—especially an awkward and gangly farm boy with an accent so thick that you could cut it with a knife. The Eights adored Jared Dalton.

"You should tell that story to the Eights," Chinstrap urged. "They'll eat it up."

"Oh, I intend to. I thought tonight, when we're beddin' down the Raiders and sampling a wee drab of the Chief's moonshine, that the lasses might enjoy hearing about daddy and his terrier."

Rufus turned his full attention back to the battle. Inside the crater, the Raiders had definitely got the upper hand. As he watched, in the distance a giant fireball rose into the orange sky. One of the lead flight's missiles had just struck home.

Jared Dalton nodded approvingly. "I'd say that sumthin inside that thar manufacturing plant just went … _boom_!"

. . .

"_Order," _Zarek shouted as he repeatedly pounded the gavel on the conference table. He was sitting to the President's immediate right, and making still another heroic attempt to get the Quorum delegates to settle down. It was like this at every meeting in the narrow conference room that served as the seat of government on _Colonial One_. Shelly Godfrey always politely waited her turn to speak, and the centurion was forever mute, but the human participants never ceased to embarrass themselves. When they weren't yelling at the President, they were yelling at one another. Indeed, the only thing that ever seemed to unite the quarrelsome delegates was their shared conviction that whoever could shout the loudest would eventually carry the day.

"The chair recognizes the delegate from Virgon," Baltar announced. "Mr. Bagot, you have the floor."

"_Order,"_ Zarek continued; _"we must have order!"_

Marshall Bagot climbed to his feet, and stared slowly around the table at his fellow delegates. But he paused when he came to Quentin Margus, the new Sagittaron representative, and speared him with the full measure of his contempt.

"Mr. President, why are we still having this discussion? _Why are we still dithering? _People are losing confidence in their government, and with good reason! The rats have found their way into the warehouse. They've eaten more than half the available food stock, and what they haven't eaten they've contaminated with their droppings …"

"At least now we know why no one's been bitten over the last four days," Sarah Porter cut in. She was fuming with rage. "They've been eating their fill, leaving us to starve …"

"Everyone except the Sagittarons," another delegate yelled out.

"Except for the Sagittarons," Bagot agreed as he reclaimed the floor. "They've cut themselves off from the rest of the settlement, and so far they've managed to keep the rats at bay. There's hunger in the streets, Mr. President … hunger, and fear. If we don't act quickly and decisively, I fear that a desperate people will soon take matters into their own hands!"

Quentin Margus jumped quickly to his feet, the protest already forming on his lips.

"Need I remind you, Mr. Bagot? My people _did not_, as you so quaintly put it, _'cut themselves off from the rest of the settlement'._ You expelled us … forced us into a ghetto … in order to limit your own exposure to the Mellorak sickness. Have any of you shown sympathy for our plight? _Hardly!_ You have treated us as outcasts … pariahs … plague carriers. We have done everything that the doctors have asked us to do, but our people are still dying. _Do any of you even care?_"

"I suspect not," Quentin snorted as he glanced around at the sea of upturned faces. "It would be so much more convenient for the rest of you if our people simply died. Then, you could help yourselves to our food supplies without going through the obviously tiresome exercise of putting a constitutional face on mob rule!"

Shelly Godfrey raised her hand.

"The chair recognizes the cylon delegate," Gaius hastily remarked.

"Thank you, Mr. President." Shelly rose awkwardly to her feet, and waited for the hubbub to die down. She did not have to wait long; everyone present knew that a woman entering the eighth month of her pregnancy, even a cylon woman, tired easily. "Mr. Bagot, you exaggerate the seriousness of our plight. While it is true that our stock of fruit, vegetables, and grains have been ruined, we have ample supplies of meat, fish, and eggs to hand. No one is in imminent danger of starving to death. Nor is it true that the government has been idly sitting on its hands during this crisis. We have attacked the problem of garbage in the streets aggressively, and we have resolved it successfully: that is why the rats have moved on to find new sources of food. It is unfortunate that we do not have enough animals on hand to make significant inroads on the rodent population, and it is doubly unfortunate that the rodents face no threat from the few indigenous quadrupeds on this planet, but this is the reality that not only the government but the people at large must face. Now is not, therefore, the time for recriminations. Instead of rebuking the Sagittarons, we should ask them to tutor us, so that in future we may safeguard our resources more carefully. And instead of threatening them, we should listen to their concerns, and do our best to redress them."

"Shelly, all of your points are well taken," Sharon Baltar commented. Her hands were resting on her belly, and even without the maternity clothes that she now sported, in the eighteenth week Sharon's own pregnancy was now obvious. She had moved past the nausea that had plagued her in the first months, and her appetite was approaching the insatiable. The twins had already begun to move about, and their movements seemed increasingly coordinated. She was convinced that each was already aware of the other's presence.

"I'm eating for three," she gently observed, "and Tory is eating for two." She reached over and patted the arm of the woman sitting beside her—the woman with whom she now shared Gaius' bed. She had not yet completely broken the presidential advisor to her will, but Sharon was satisfied that Tory now saw herself as a member of the family, and would do nothing to undermine her husband's political standing.

"So," she went on, "you will all understand that food is a matter of great concern to the both of us." Sharon's self-deprecating display of humor elicited chuckles throughout the room. The tension didn't completely melt away, but it did dissipate.

"We need to remain calm," she said as she looked pointedly at Marshall Bagot. "And when this meeting adjourns and we go out to talk with our constituents, we all need to make it clear that the food shortage does not pose an immediate danger to the community. But at the same time, we also need to assure our people that the government _is_ aware of the looming population explosion, and is taking steps _today_ to insure that we have enough food to feed our children _tomorrow_. Mr. Margus, it would be helpful if the Sagittaron elders would make a public announcement to this effect. We must set aside a larger volume of seed grain for planting purposes in order to guarantee the much larger harvests that twenty thousand additional mouths will require one and two years out."

"That's a reasonable suggestion," Quentin agreed. "I will bring it before the Council of the Elders at the next meeting, which is the day after tomorrow. _But_," he stressed, "I want it to be publicly acknowledged that Sagittaron food stocks are ours to dispose of as we see fit. We have nothing else with which to barter. You can deny it all you want, _but we are outcasts_!"

"I can make no such public admission," Gaius instantly countered. "Shelly and Sharon are right … at the moment, there is no real cause for alarm, but the rats aren't exactly cooperating with our efforts to exterminate them, and none of us can predict the future with certainty. If the situation continues to deteriorate, I will have no choice but to revisit this issue—and if it comes to it, I am prepared to declare a formal state of emergency."

"Is that a threat, Mr. President?"

"No, Mr. Margus … it's a statement of fact. And you might want to remind your elders that we also face chronic shortages of certain medicines, which we may have to triage even in the presence of highly communicable diseases such as Mellorak infection." The look on Gaius' face was grim. "You might also want to inform them that Lieutenant Agathon is making progress in his investigation of Cyrus Dalyattes' murder. It would be a shame if he were unable to get to the bottom of this matter because his services were urgently required elsewhere. But starving people have been known to riot, Mr. Margus, and maintaining public order is one of the most basic duties of government."

"Cyrus Uri doesn't respond well to threats, Mr. President." The Sagittaron's tone was harsh.

"And I don't respond well to extortion," Baltar shot back. "Make it clear to the elders that Sagittarons _are_ a part of this community, and that we expect them to be as public spirited as every other colonist."

. . .

The Raider dashed forward, its animal brain fully geared to the hunt. The air was thick with missiles, identical in every way to its own arms. It had glided left and right, up and down, relying on speed and agility to evade the killing stroke. Once the threat receded, it could be ignored; the younger and less experienced members of the pack prowled the perimeter of the hunting ground, honing their skills against the prey's feeble weapons.

Once, the hunt had been straightforward: find the prey, and kill it. But the predator had evolved, and its tactics had grown more sophisticated. It could discriminate now between the deadly talons and the still more deadly brain that directed them. The Raider was intent upon killing the brain, and so its sensors scanned the surface beyond the crater's rim, seeking out the electronic signature of a DRADIS dish.

_There!_

Falcon squealed in triumph, and climbed still higher into the planetoid's thin atmosphere. The humans who cared for the nest had given him the name, and had patiently repeated it until he identified it as his own. And they had taught him a new trick. It was no longer necessary to take the fight directly to the prey, for it could just as easily be killed from above.

Falcon swooped ahead, once more dodging the sharply pointed claws that reached out to rake him. He fastened his own electronic gaze upon an imaginary spot fifty feet above the DRADIS dish, and unleashed two of the missiles hidden within his wings.

The electronic chatter suddenly ceased, and Falcon purred with contentment. Now, he was free to soar, free to attack the prey's nest.

Eagle slid up to his left, and sent a terse electronic query to his older brother. Other members of the pack moved in as well, gathering around their leader. Falcon was old, and he had fought many times against prey both worthy and unworthy. He would lead, and they would follow. Such was the order of things.

The younglings spread out, and dropped toward the rust red planetary surface. They would test their skills against the now helpless missile batteries; some were easy prey, but others had been cunningly concealed in the shadowy crevices that everywhere scarred the landscape. Falcon hovered patiently, waiting for the younglings to depart. Finally, he armed two more of his missiles, and surged forward. The nest was huge, but it was no longer protected, and so he and his brothers would feast. . . .

Directing the battle from a safe distance, Kat couldn't help but admire the grace with which her metallic flock moved from one target to the next. Suddenly, she was warmed by an enormous surge of gratitude. John Bierns and Kara Thrace … she didn't care whether they were real, honest-to-gods angels or not. She gently patted her stomach.

_Without you, this baby wouldn't even exist … you've given all of us a chance to live …_

As Louanne and Leoben watched, in the distance a giant fireball rose into the orange sky. One of the lead flight's missiles had just struck home.

. . .

"_Missile lock,"_ Hog's Breath squeaked. "And they're coming from _inside_ the crater!"

Rufus Ayres didn't pause to think. He slammed the rudder hard to the left, moving on pure instinct as the adrenaline surge spiked through his body. He sensed the missile dart through the air that, a bare two seconds earlier, his Raptor had occupied.

"Oh, frak," Jared wailed; "Playboy's gone … _he's gone_!"

But Chinstrap had no time to mourn. He continued to roll his bird hard to the left, and then he took it straight down, seeking the shelter of the derelicts on the crater floor. The two pilots were fish trapped in a fishbowl, and he reckoned that all the chaff and decoys in the world wouldn't get them out of this particular fix.

"_They suckered us, Rufus … by all the gods … they suckered us real good!" _The ECO's voice was laced with surprise, but then the proximity alarm sounded, drowning out every other sound inside the tiny reconnaissance craft.

Rufus Ayres leveled off so close to the surface that the Raptor was raising a dust storm in its wake. He turned into an aisle and pushed the throttle forward, the abandoned hulks now flying by on both sides in one, unending blur. He was desperately searching for a gap in the ranks, someplace where he could duck in, sit down, and hide …

Something slammed into the hull, and Chinstrap had to fight for control of his bird, which was suddenly sluing dangerously to the right. There was an explosion in the cabin behind him, and Jared was screaming. But Rufus Ayres couldn't tell whether it was from pain or fear, and he didn't dare turn his head to look.

He didn't have to. The air was suddenly thick with the acrid smell of burnt wiring, and he knew that Jared's console had exploded. It was every pilot's worse nightmare … the shower of sparks that rarely killed, but often left the ECO covered with third degree burns that made death seem like an act of divine grace. It was far better to die than to face reconstructive surgery that could never restore the sight to blinded eyes.

_I guess maybe it's time to call it a day,_ Rufus wearily thought.

. . .

"_Blue team … commit … commit," _Kat screeched. She could only watch in horror as a heat-seeking missile suddenly came out of nowhere and slammed into the engine mount on Playboy's Raptor. The ship blew apart, taking Playboy and City Slicker with it. Less than five seconds later, a second missile claimed the lives of Tough Guy and Carousel, pilots with whom she had bunked in her nugget days back on _Galactica_. A creeping numbness settled over Kat's limbs as Chinstrap dove for the deck, passing rapidly out of her line of sight.

"_They suckered us, Rufus … by all the gods … they suckered us real good!"_

Hearing the unmistakable sound of Jared Dalton's voice over the wireless, the CAG let out a shaky laugh. _They're still alive, _she marveled. And then she heard a scream that made her blood run cold.


	10. Chapter 10: Chasing Rainbows

**WARNING: THIS IS A DARK CHAPTER, WITH MILD BUT EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT.**

CHAPTER 10

CHASING RAINBOWS

Rufus Ayres slammed his palm against the reset knob, fear, anger and frustration getting the better of him—but the proximity alarm barely skipped a beat.

"_Stay frosty, Chinstrap … and keep your head down."_

The young lieutenant caught the slight note of urgency in the other pilot's voice, and it shattered his concentration. He turned away from his instruments, and looked out through the canopy. A Viper was coming in hot at one o'clock high, its guns blazing away at a target somewhere to his rear.

A shock wave suddenly buffeted the Raptor, and Chinstrap found himself fighting desperately to prevent his ship from sliding into an uncontrolled lateral spin. He sensed rather than saw one of the mothballed freighters, which should have been off somewhere to his left, now looming directly in front of him.

Rufus Ayres would later swear that his entire life flashed before his eyes, but the quick reflexes that had already saved him twice in less than a minute kicked in a third time. He pulled back hard on the yoke, and the Raptor jumped skyward. Shrieking metal screamed in protest, and he knew that he had grazed the other ship's hull. Whether he still had his landing gear was a question that he would have to save for later.

"_Well done, Chinstrap; you're clear, and we've got your six. Now, get back to the barn; we'll take it from here."_

"Roger that, Freaker … and thanks for the assist. Kat, requesting emergency clearance; I need DC and a med team on hot standby." Rufus began rapidly cycling through the emergency checklist …

"_Frak! _Kat, be advised that the landing gear won't engage. I'll have to do a belly flop."

"Understood, Chinstrap; can you shut down and let us tow you in?"

Rufus swiveled around, and for the first time got a good look at the carnage in his rear. Jared Dalton was sprawled on the floor, and even from a distance it was obvious that he had been severely injured. The skin covering his left cheek had been ripped away, exposing the jawbone underneath. His left eye had been lacerated, and the smell of scorched flesh now filled the tiny compartment.

"Negative, CAG; my ECO is in bad shape. He needs medical attention stat!"

In the landing bay, one of the Eights swore at the wireless, and pounded her fist into the table that served as Louanne Katraine's makeshift office.

"Then you're cleared straight into the bay; good luck, and God's speed."

"All right, people! You know the drill!" Jammer clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "We've got a wounded bird inbound, and a pilot who needs every second we can buy him. So, let's roll! We need to coat the deck with fire retardant, and we've got maybe four minutes to get it done!"

"_Let's move, people!"_ The blond haired Six grabbed a fire extinguisher, and without looking back she ran toward the entrance to the hangar. She had been programmed for maintenance, and she had worked alongside Galen Tyrol and James Lyman since their first day on Natalie's baseship.

Neither the knuckle-draggers nor the Eights needed any more urging. They scrambled to lay down the foam that might prevent a wayward spark from igniting the Raptor's remaining fuel load. One spark … they all knew that one spark could trigger an explosion that would turn the deck into a raging inferno.

. . .

Falcon studied the cliff face, and he made no effort to check the sense of rage that was coursing through his systems. The human who groomed his wings after each hunt had been hurt, and Falcon lusted for revenge.

Relying upon his electronic senses to ferret out the foe's hiding places, the Raider switched to infrared. He isolated his prey, and rushed in for the kill.

. . .

"Are you sure that we should be doing this," Lee worriedly asked. "I mean … uh … what if … you know … I'm hurting Cyrene? What if … well … what if … uh, um … _you go into labor or something_?"

"_Or something_, Lee? Why, whatever do you mean?"

Creusa's voice was teasing, but her heart overflowed with love. In the dark, she reached out and gently traced the frown that etched her husband's forehead. She wanted Lee inside her, and she wanted just as badly to be on top, but she had to settle for lying on her side because her very serious and deeply concerned husband was convinced that she was a balloon that was ready to burst. The position would leave her physically unsatisfied, but she was surprised at how good Lee's devotion to his new family made her feel emotionally. The Sixes had always been tactile, had always craved sensation, but the complexities of love had changed the young Cylon to the very core of her being. At every turn, Creusa sensed depths and textures hitherto unknown. For the briefest of moments, she wondered whether her pregnancy had triggered some long dormant program of Ellen's devising, but in the final analysis it didn't matter, and so she dismissed the thought.

"I'm not a balloon, Lee. A beach ball, maybe—_but you won't prick me_!" Softly laughing, she leaned in to kiss Apollo gently on the lips.

Lee hungrily returned her kiss. He was well schooled in conventional wisdom, well acquainted with all the broad generalizations. Pregnancy, it was claimed, systematically robbed most women of their vitality, leaving in its wake brittle bones and a waxen complexion. But Creusa wasn't most women, and she glowed with good health. She had become steadily more voluptuous, the erotic mother goddess incarnate.

"I know, I know … but …"

Creusa kissed him much more aggressively, her hands now wandering insistently up and down his wiry frame. Lee's passions quickly responded to her skilled and knowing touch, and he gasped with pleasure.

"But I read that there's something in my fluids … I think it's called prostaglandins … that can induce labor … _oh, gods_!"

Creusa guided Lee's mouth to her waiting breast, the nipple stiff with need. The slightest touch sufficed. Her back arched, and she began to pant as wave after wave of liquid fire coursed through her belly. She yearned to explode … but not in the way that Lee imagined.

"We still have a few more weeks to go," she finally managed to murmur. "So, don't worry."

"I can't help worrying," Lee confessed as he moved his head from one side to the other. "It's just my nature."

"I know," Creusa said as she affectionately ran her fingers through his hair. "You have this check list in your mind, and you keep running through it over and over again. Everything has to be _just so_. In some ways, Lee, you're more cylon than I am. It's why you're so good at everything you do."

"Is that a compliment," he whispered. "Do I … _measure up_?"

"Oh, yes, my love; _you most definitely rise to the task_!" Creusa started to giggle, and she clamped down hard. Her emotions were still running wild, but even if it was all raging hormones, there were certain things that simply did not become a number Six.

"Besides," she added in a husky voice—the one that always made it so difficult for Lee to breathe …

Creusa shifted her weight, seeking a more comfortable position, and Lee moved with her …

"Besides," she continued, "Cyrene can come out to play any time now. She'll be fine … I guarantee it."

"Ummm … and what about me? Will I be fine? Can you guarantee _that_?"

"That's good," Creusa sighed; "whatever you do, _don't stop_!" She knew with absolute certainty that she wouldn't burst, but she had reached the point where she was not at all sure that she wouldn't melt.

"Your wish," Lee mumbled as he groped between her legs. He found the spot, and started to knead it with his forefinger. His wife instantly began to purr in ecstasy.

"I predict …"

Creusa closed her eyes, and stared into the future. She did not have Leoben's gift of sight … nor did she need it.

"I predict that there will come a night …"

She buried her nose in Lee's hair and inhaled deeply, her mind automatically parsing the many layers of his scent. When they made love, his body chemistry charged the air around them.

"… when you will start coming to bed with your clothes on, so that you won't have to lose precious time getting dressed when we're leaving for the hospital. It would not surprise me if you even refuse to take your shoes off!"

Lee started to protest, but Creusa had developed an uncanny ability to read his mind. He decided to say nothing … because there really was nothing for him to say.

"You've paced it off, haven't you? You know _exactly_ how far it is from here to the hospital … how long it will take."

"It's 1,529 steps," he sheepishly confessed; "it took me eleven minutes and forty seconds."

Creusa grasped Lee's head in her hands, and then she kissed him for all that she was worth. "I don't think that I can walk that fast," she admitted when they finally came up for air.

"Not a problem," the younger Adama slyly retorted; "the centurion's going to carry you."

"Oh, Lee," she laughed; "do you have _any idea_ how much I love you?"

. . .

Chinstrap cycled the hatch, and leaned out just far enough to scream for medics. One of the Eights brushed past him, and fell to the deck at Jared Dalton's side. She grasped his hand, which by some miracle had not been touched by the explosion. She wanted to weep, she wanted to lash out at the universe, but she consciously choked back the tears. She was an Eight. She could do this.

"Jared, can you hear me? You're safe now; it's going to be all right. You'll see … you're safe …"

"Sharon … is that you? I can't see nuthin'. Why can't I see?"

"Sharon, you need to move … give us room to work."

The Eight didn't need to look up. She knew that Simon and Larissa had boarded the Raptor right behind her. They were the most experienced medical team in the fleet, and they shuttled from one ship to the next as the rotation schedule required. Natalie had been careful never to allow enemy forces to gauge her true numbers.

Larissa efficiently checked the injured pilot for broken bones, and then nodded to her colleague. She got up and stood aside so that a pair of waiting marines could transfer Hog's Breath to a stretcher. They had to be careful: Jared's chest and shoulders were a mass of second and third degree burns.

But this was a drill that they had all been through many times before: get the wounded pilot onto a stretcher … get him out of his bird … get him onto a gurney … get him to surgery. Try and save his life, and rebuild him in body and spirit.

Sharon strode rapidly beside the gurney. She refused to let go of Jared Dalton's hand, and she never ceased to encourage him, reminding him constantly that everything would be all right. Other Eights trailed behind, and Sharon knew that many more would congregate around the infirmary. They were all adopted daughters of Aerilon, and Hog's Breath was a true son. No matter the cost in time and tears, they would all close ranks. They would always look after their own.

. . .

Sam Anders idly bounced the pyramid ball off the deck, each time snatching it out of the air with the easy grace of the professional athlete. His hand never paused, never delayed for even the tiniest fraction of a second while waiting for the ball to catch up. His motions were fluid, the mechanics of geometry transformed into art. Suddenly, he crouched, and his arm came up. The ball sailed across the lounge and passed through the Pyramid goal without grazing its sides. Another perfect shot … another demonstration of the artistry of mathematics.

Melania Peripolides leaned back on her bar stool, and clapped her hands in genuine admiration. Then, she stood up and walked over with Sam's drink. She nuzzled him in the ear when she handed it to him.

"You make it look so easy," she murmured as she took a sip of her own whiskey. "You do everything so effortlessly."

Sam downed his drink in one violent gulp, and then strolled off to retrieve his ball. When he returned, he dropped it into her hand. "Give it a try," he encouraged.

Melania tossed it into the air, pretending to think about it, knowing exactly what she was going to do.

"I prefer other … recreational activities," she suggestively replied. Her tone … her body language … the way that she was looking at him—Melania was sending all the necessary signals. Sam could not possibly mistake her meaning.

Sam stood his ground, and when Melania inched closer still, he did not back away. He was content to let her make the first move. This was another sport, and it too was one at which he excelled.

. . .

The Raptor slid smoothly into the docking bay of the Aesculapius class medical frigate, but John Bierns was so engrossed in the report he was currently reading that he did not even notice until Margaret Edmondson announced hard seal.

Seated opposite him in the confined space, Sharon Bierns was watching her husband closely. She had already seen him go into deep shock once, and she feared that what the centurions had discovered on the _Delos_ would trigger another episode. Sharon glanced meaningfully at Larissa Karanis, who was also keeping a close eye on the First Born. His mind was littered with toxic memories, and she keenly appreciated just how easily he could communicate them to the baseship hybrids. She was prepared forcefully to intervene in order to prevent a recurrence of the psychic chaos that Bierns had inflicted on the entire fleet five months earlier.

Casualties notwithstanding, the Six in charge of Pelea's baseship had persevered in the attack on the cylon outpost. Once the Raiders had taken out the last of the missile batteries that had caused such havoc, sixty Heavy Raiders had taken a full battalion of centurions down to the surface. They had systematically combed the mothballed hulls, inventorying potential resources for transport up to the fleet. They had located the _Diana_, which had turned out to be just one more of the nondescript hulks that the Cavils had parked inside the crater. But the real prize was the _Delos_. The hospital ship was state-of-the-art, and the initial reports of intact equipment and medical supplies had set off a wave of jubilation across the fleet. And then the follow-up report had come in, summarizing the discoveries in the chambers so innocuously styled L-7 and L-8. Bierns had instinctively sensed the import of the find; once his suspicions had been confirmed, this pilgrimage had been the inevitable result.

The hulks had been stripped, and the _Diana_ and the _Delos_ rendered space worthy. Skeleton crews had flown them off the surface and guided them to the rendezvous point, while a lone Raider stayed behind. It had completed the operation by launching a lone nuke into the crater, which consumed everything caught up in the blast. The Acheron system would no longer be of any value to the Cavils.

Racetrack and Sharon had volunteered for this assignment. With Natalie Faust and Louis Hoshi on board the Raptor, as well as John and Sharon Bierns, they weren't about to delegate it to anyone else. A pair of Heavy Raiders had already ferried the other two cylon commanders and their human XO's to the ghost ship, as well as the most senior copies of the four cylon models. They had all come to see what the centurions had discovered with their own eyes. They had all come to bear witness.

"We're down," Racetrack announced in a subdued voice. She hadn't cried in years, but when she looked back at her passengers, tears sprang unwillingly to her eyes. No one, she thought, should ever be forced to suffer this … no one. Natalie's face was a frozen mask. She would get through the next hour by sheer force of will. The first born of the hybrid children had withdrawn completely from those gathered round him, hiding behind a wall of self-imposed discipline and determination.

Sharon eased past her passengers and lowered the ramp, dreading what she would see in the eyes of her brothers and sisters. Racetrack came up behind her, to clutch her tight. Sharon leaned her head on the human's shoulder, seeking the comfort of another's touch.

John Bierns walked down the ramp and straight up to the blood-spattered centurion who had stood faithfully by his side for the last ten months. They were brothers in the truest sense of the word, and the First Born was immensely grateful that his sibling had no memory of what awaited them on this ship.

"I want to see L-8 first," he said in a clipped monotone.

The centurion regarded him for a very long moment, and then it turned and led them into the heart of the ship.

. . .

Jared Dalton opened his eyes, but he had to fight hard to keep them open. He was groggy, and the walls refused to stay in focus. The whole room seemed to be in motion.

He glanced to his right, and for the first time noticed the luxuriant mop of black hair on the bed at his side. Sharon appeared to be sleeping. She was sitting in a chair, but she had cradled her head in her arms. Deeply moved by her presence, Jared wanted to smile, but his mouth refused to cooperate. Something seemed to be holding his jaw firmly in place. So, he opted instead lightly to stroke the top of her head with his fingers.

Sharon awakened instantly, and her eyes brightened when she saw that Hog's Breath had regained consciousness. She stood up, and leaned over to kiss him lightly on the forehead.

"Welcome back," she said. "Everything's going to be okay … just like I promised."

"Hey, sweetie … what happened? I don't remember a darned thing."

"One of the Viper pilots … I think it was Songbird … shot down a missile that was tracking you. The shrapnel impacted the fuselage, and your console exploded. You needed a lot of surgery, but it went well. Now, you just need time to heal."

"And Rufus … is Rufus okay?"

"He's fine, Jared ... not a scratch on him."

"Thank the gods … but Rufus … I swear, that boy always did have the luck of the Geminese. Say, Sharon, what do you think? Do I sound sorta funny to you?"

"You mean more so than usual," she laughed.

"Well, it's kinda funny. I can't seem to open my mouth, and when I close my right eye, you're not there anymore."

"I know," the Eight replied, her demeanor suddenly serious. "Jared, they had to do a lot of skin grafts, including high up on your left cheek. Your jaw … is wired shut to keep you from tearing the stitches. It was delicate surgery."

"And my eye," he whispered; "what about my eye?"

"We couldn't save it," she sobbed. "And we tried … we really, really tried. One of the Twos even allowed us to harvest his eyes, but the graft wouldn't take. Simon and Larissa … they tried so hard …"

"It's all right, sweetie; I've still got one good eye to see you with. But do you think old Falcon's gonna recognize me?"

"He hasn't been the same since you were hurt. He misses you."

"Well, when I get out of here, do you wanna go visit him? He just needs a good rubdown."

"Jared, I love you. But so does every Eight on this ship. You can have any of us you want."

"And here I kinda thought I was spoken for …"

"You are," she sniffled; "you are." She leaned down to brush his lips with her own, sealing the bond between them.

. . .

"This is much the smaller of the two chambers," Gaeta nervously explained while the marine cycled the hatch. "It houses four of the … uh … four of the larger containers, and two of the smaller." His voice trailed off. Now the XO on Pelea's baseship, Felix was desperate to fill the awful silence in this obscene crypt, but his words only seemed to draw still more attention to the oppressive silence.

Bierns was the first to enter the storage compartment; with feelings that ranged from curiosity to dread, the rest of the landing party entered behind him. Sharon Bierns moaned involuntarily, and her hands flew protectively to her stomach. Someone else cursed angrily.

"The bodies appear to be perfectly … uh …"

"_Pickled,"_ Bierns said harshly. "Is that the word you're searching for, Felix?"

"_Preserved," _Gaeta lamely finished.

"The solution is totally transparent," Larissa pointed out. "It's probably formalin. In medical school, we all used it to preserve lab specimens."

"_Lab specimens," _Natalie echoed angrily. "Is that what we're looking at? _Lab specimens?"_

John walked off to his left, and ran his hand up and down the glass exterior of one of the barrel-shaped containers. It was cool to his touch. Somehow, he knew that everything on this ship would be cool to the touch. He stared at the bald but glassy eyed Eight warehoused within, noting almost absently the crude sutures that ran vertically across her womb. He closed his eyes, and summoned the memories. They came easily … as they had thousands of times before.

"Her name was Sharon," he whispered to everyone and no one. "In the second generation, all of the Eights were named Sharon. Cavil dissected the fetus. He was thorough … that's why there are no remains."

John walked around the container, pausing only long enough to gesture towards another line of crude stitching at the back of the Eight's head. "He removed her brain; he dissected it just as thoroughly. I don't think he was very happy with the results."

The First Born moved on, his body going rigid when he stopped in front of the next display. This time, there were two jars, one large and one small. D'Anna's corpse mirrored Sharon's; her brain had also been removed. D'Anna's unborn child floated in the smaller container. Cut out midway through the third trimester, the boy was perfection in miniature …

_Or he would be,_ John thought, _if Cavil hadn't dismembered him_.

The four limbs were suspended in the viscous solution, hanging directly in front of Ghostrider's eyes. For one crazed moment, Bierns wondered what Cavil had used to stuff the brain cavity before he sewed it shut. He wondered why he had even bothered.

"My little brother," John laconically announced.

"_For the love of the gods," _Racetrack protested.

"Captain, there is no god on this ship," Leoben calmly countered; "not yours … and most assuredly not ours."

"Sharon, and Samuel … he was about six hours old when Cavil came for him."

Boomer could feel the bile rising inside her, building just as remorselessly as the towering sense of rage that threatened to consume her soul. There was a bullet hole in the center of her sister's forehead, but without the brain, her nephew's head had imploded. From the neck up, Samuel reminded her of a dried out prune.

John lingered in front of the last display, which was set slightly apart from the others. In his imagination he watched Cavil come, a visitor repeatedly intent on gloating over his chosen victim.

"Aspasia," John explained, in the strangely neutral voice that he always adopted when he was retreating from the world. "Look, you can still see the bruising that the straps left on her wrists and ankles. Cavil had them on too tight."

The Six appeared to be sleeping; a stray lock of hair had fallen over the entry wound in her forehead. But everyone present knew better.

"_I am going to kill that son of a bitch," _Cynthia raged. _"I swear to God … I am going to make him pay for this … pay a thousand times over!"_

"Aspasia was Kara's mother," Bierns added unnecessarily.

. . .

"Ah," Six sighed, "this is _so_ nice." She walked her fingers up Eric Lackey's chest. The young Sagittaron was well muscled, and incredibly good looking. It was clearly God's will that they should be together.

Eric looked at her, the question written all over his face.

"Not having the marines staring at me," Six explained; "having some privacy."

"Don't get your hopes up, Six." A broad grin washed across Eric's dark features. "If you were to step outside this tent, I suspect that you'd run into them soon enough!"

"You're right, of course," she conceded as she leaned over to kiss his breast. "But in here, once every two weeks, I can at least pretend that I'm not this horrible mass murderer that everyone shuns in the street."

"This is your weekend pass," Eric laughed; "your time off for good behavior." He continued to run his fingernails lightly up and down her back, and Six rewarded him by moaning with pleasure.

She crept higher, so that she could kiss him full on the lips. Always the aggressor, she forced his lips to part, and then used her tongue to explore the inside of his mouth. It delighted her that Eric was submissive in bed, and content to follow her lead in all things. Overseer Sixes dominated; they did not submit.

"We have Dr. Fordyce to thank for our good fortune," Six murmured. "She has obviously come to the conclusion that you are a necessary part of my rehabilitation."

"Yeah, you could say that the seminar for mixed couples that she had us attend last weekend was pretty much a dead clue. I gotta say, though, that the numbers involved really took me by surprise. I never would have guessed that so many Cylons and humans were pairing off."

"That's because you haven't been paying attention. And I'm glad, because I would get really, really upset if you started ogling my sisters. We Sixes tend to be both possessive and jealous."

"Careful, sweetheart … my ego's swollen enough already." Eric began gently to nibble on Six's earlobe, which was guaranteed to drive her wild. "Having the most beautiful woman on the planet confess to getting jealous when my eyes start to wander is more than I can handle."

"You can look," Six teased, "but you can't touch. On second thought, I don't want you even to look at an Eight. I don't trust them."

"_Whoa," _Eric protested with wide-eyed innocence. "Do you mean to tell me that you're worried about competing with the Sharons? I thought that we were talking about somebody like Anthia. She's what we humans call drop dead gorgeous."

"Do you want me to grow my hair out? Wear it long … like Lida?"

"Nah, it would just get in the way when I do stuff … like this." Eric began to explore the inside of Six's right ear, which also drove her wild.

"It's just that the Eights take God's commandment to be fruitful and multiply very much to heart," Six warned. "We Sixes like to frak for the sheer pleasure of frakking, but for the Eights sex is just a means to an end. Mama Ellen says that she programmed them to want children more than anything else in life, and I believe her. The Eights are obsessed with children."

"Hey, don't you want to have a kid someday?"

"I would very much like for us to have a child, Eric … but it's not what's on my mind when we make love. Sixes live in the moment. We accept that we have a role to play in God's plan for us all, but we do not try and anticipate it. We do not allow our faith to dictate our actions … we are not Eights."

"I always wanted to have a little girl," Eric whispered. "And when we do, I hope that she looks just like you. I love you, Six. I really, really love you."

Six leaned away from her lover, and studied him with somber eyes. Her hand came up to caress his cheek. "I'm glad," she finally answered; "because I love you, and I want us to be together … forever."

. . .

Gaeta paused at the entrance to L-7, and assessed the collective mood of the Cylons and humans gathered around him. He was relieved to see that outrage was the dominant emotion, because what lay on the opposite side of the hatch was going to be very hard to take.

"I want to warn you in advance," he cautioned, "that some of the … exhibits … in here are far worse than what you saw in the other chamber. Major, are you sure that you want to do this?"

Bierns looked gratefully at the young officer. "It's decent of you to ask, Felix … but what choice do we have in the matter? My memories are the only reliable guide we have to this house of horrors."

Gaeta nodded silently in agreement, and opened the hatch. He stepped aside to permit the others to pass.

"The arrangement seems to be in chronological order," Felix suggested when he entered behind them. "We should begin on the far left."

"_Dear gods on high,"_ Kevin Riley involuntarily exclaimed when he approached the far wall. There were ten jars neatly aligned, five containing the remains of the Cylon mothers, and five their aborted fetuses. "How could anyone do something like this?" He shifted his gaze to the Simon standing at his side. Riley had been promoted to the rank of colonel, and tasked to serve as Cynthia Six's XO on Olivia's baseship. But nothing in his relatively short military career had prepared him for this moment. He was completely at sea.

"I do not know," the Four responded. He was intently studying the fetuses, the last of which especially intrigued him. "Major, do you have an opinion?"

"They're first generation," Bierns solemnly replied. "Mother inferred from the way Cavil bragged about not letting her sisters go to waste that they were all being used in some kind of experiment. Now, we know what it was all about."

The intelligence officer gestured towards the fetus that had so captivated Simon. It had a single eye, which was located above the bridge of the nose, in the exact center of the forehead. The tiny arms and legs appeared to be much thicker than those on a human child, and the feet made him think of hooves.

"At a guess, I'd say that we're looking at a failed attempt to combine human and centurion DNA. It stands to reason that I'm at the end of this chain, not the beginning. I'm the culmination of this program. Frankly, however, I'm surprised that Cavil didn't mass produce this design. It's obviously much closer to the centurion side of the family than I am."

"Maybe he did turn out more of these monsters," Natalie angrily suggested. "Who knows what the Ones were doing … or why. The only thing we know for sure is that they had decades to prepare for whatever brave new world they have in mind for us."

"_My baby,"_ Sharon cried as the full implications of her husband's statement sank in.

"Calm yourself, Eight. The major's genetic markers are far removed from those of this creature." Simon's tone was faintly patronizing.

"He's right, Sharon." John clasped her hand in encouragement. "Eirene will be perfect, though she'll favor you much more strongly than me."

"How do you know?"

"I'm not sure." John frowned in obvious puzzlement. "I just am."

"Major, what do you make of this," Hoshi asked. He pointed at a fetus that was isolated from the others, at the rear of the compartment. The nose and mouth had been reduced to thin slits, and the eyes were missing, although the cavities that should have housed them were clearly visible beneath the skin. But from the waist down, there was nothing even remotely human about the specimen. Instead of legs, Bierns found himself staring at a forest of tentacles, of varying length and thickness. Images of squid and octopi drifted through his mind.

"I don't know," Bierns conceded. He shook his head in resignation. "It could be an attempt to create a purely organic hybrid … perhaps something capable of operating on frequencies beyond the reach of human sight. Or maybe … maybe it's supposed to be half fish and half human … something designed to function for long periods of time under water. I don't know."

"The Cavils are insane," Boomer spat. She had seen enough.

"Insanity is not all that far removed from genius," Leoben quietly observed. "The line separating the two is often tenuous and vague."

"Are you defending the Ones, brother?" Natalie needed to direct her anger at someone, and the Twos had always made for convenient punching bags.

"No … I merely point out that we do not possess sufficient information to judge what we see here."

"_This obscenity is not a part of God's plan,"_ the black clad Six who managed Pelea's baseship hissed. She looked at Felix Gaeta for confirmation. Felix had been snatched up by an Eight early on, but she respected her XO's judgment nonetheless.

"I agree," Felix hastily remarked. "And I suggest that we run all of this by our hybrids. They might be able to tell us whether this has something to do with the major's nightmares."

John Bierns had also had enough. He wandered off to the far right side of the chamber, knowing exactly what awaited him there. Sharon and Larissa closed in to flank him. They both feared a recurrence of the psychotic episode that had occurred in colonial space. Felix was right: almost anything in this nightmarish gallery might trigger a relapse.

"_Frak," _Boomer swore. John had led them to a point opposite two identical jars.

"Rebecca and Sharon," he mildly observed.

Larissa ignored the Eights, and focused the whole of her attention on John Bierns. She knew that he was at his most dangerous when he was this excessively polite. She expected him to snap at any moment.

"Where's my niece? _Where's Helena?_" Boomer slammed her fist into the glass with such force that she smeared it with her blood.

"There wasn't enough left to …"

John staggered under the weight of the memories. Cavil's autopsy had been … thorough.

"_This is … this is …"_

Bierns glanced to his right. Cynthia, the Six whom he had once humiliated in hand-to-hand combat, was staring in horror at the contents of the next set of jars.

"This is Phryne." John completed the sentence for the overseer Six. "And her daughter … this is Cassiopeia."

"_No," _Cynthia screamed. _"No! This … this is our first born child?"_

The little girl was very much as John remembered her. He could not shake the image of Cavil carving out the baby's brain, and then unceremoniously tossing the carcass onto Phryne's chest. It was the cruelest act that he had ever witnessed. The object floating inside the tank was a mute testament to the One's thirst for revenge.

Like a sleepwalker unable to escape the nightmare landscape of his dreams, John Bierns approached the last occupant of the last jar. There was a jagged bullet hole in the Three's forehead, but he was hypnotized by the puckered skin above her breasts. He had lost count of the number of times the surgical needle had risen and fallen, plunging over and over again into her lungs.

John Bierns leaned his forehead against the cool glass, and closed his eyes.

"_Mama,"_ he whispered.

The first born of the hybrid children turned away from the still figure floating in the jar, to address the others.

"This is the first Three," he said in a voice summoned up from the well of his soul.

"This is my mother."


	11. Chapter 11: In the Well of the Soul

CHAPTER 11

IN THE WELL OF THE SOUL

"This had better be good," Cavil growled. "You've disturbed a delicate experiment right at the point where it was starting to get interesting."

"Well, sorry to ruin your day, brother, but something's come up, and we need to talk about it sooner rather than later." In truth, John Cavil wasn't sorry at all, but this copy was notoriously temperamental, and there was nothing to be gained by alienating him unnecessarily.

"Besides, your Eight will keep," a third Cavil added. He didn't object to his brother's single-minded pursuit of all things pornographic, but there was a war on, and it did occasionally require their collective attention.

"All right … fine … what's gone wrong this time?" Cavil knew that Cavil never called a meeting to report good news. These little sessions were reserved exclusively for surprises and screw-ups.

"Some surprising information has come to light." John drummed his fingers lightly on the tabletop. "One of our scouting parties stumbled upon a lone colonial ship in a system two hundred and sixty light years coreward of the nebula we've been skirting. At least, we think it's colonial. The configuration is unknown, but there was a lot of interference, and the Raiders were unable to obtain a clean silhouette. We have to make allowances."

"But it wasn't _Galactica_, or one of the baseships?"

"No … that much we're sure of …"

"And the hybrid is non-responsive," another Cavil said as he breezed in and took a seat. "Sorry to be late," he apologized, "but I wanted to be sure." This Cavil was always late and invariably apologetic—although his apologies just as invariably reeked of insincerity.

"If there's another hybrid in the neighborhood," he explained, "ours hasn't detected it. The stream is awash with the usual data points, but there's nothing exciting in the mix."

"This makes no sense," John frowned. "The Raiders tell us that the system in question has heavy metals in abundance, so it's understandable that Adama would pause there to conduct mining operations, but why would he leave a civilian ship without a military escort? He's never done this before."

"It must be a trap," still another Cavil commented.

"Well, it's not very well set," the pornographically inclined Cavil dyspeptically remarked. He was anxious to get back to his pet Eight. Her erotic talents had repeatedly taken him to places where no One had ever gone before.

"What bothers me is the hybrid," he added. "The damned machine has an orgasm every time her precious brother comes sniffing around her imaginary crotch … and he's halfway across the galaxy. If there's another baseship a lousy couple of hundred light years away, shouldn't we know about it?"

"Amen to that, brother. And that brings us to the second item on the agenda. There's been an incident in NCD 382."

"Oh, frak."

"You took the words right out of my mouth. Natalie's been a very naughty girl. She nuked the entire facility … turned the whole place into so much radioactive glass. I think we should seriously consider the possibility that she has a much larger force at her disposal than we have previously estimated. This would explain why we've heard nary a peep out of the hybrid."

"But … Natalie doesn't know about the warehouse. Surely, this is just a really ugly coincidence."

"Does it matter? If the Sixes and Eights have stumbled across the _Delos_, they are going to be well and truly pissed. Even the Threes might get upset."

"So we have to come to a decision," John summarized. "Do we ignore Natalie and concentrate on pursuing Adama? Alternatively, do we abandon the chase in order to eliminate the threat that the Six poses in our rear? Or do we continue to divide our forces and go after them both simultaneously, although we know nothing of their true strength?"

"What a mess," Cavil bitterly concluded. "I'd like to strangle Caprica Six and all of her do-gooder friends. _'The slaughter of humanity was a mistake', _he sneered. _'We have an obligation to bring the word of God to the humans'. _Frakking Sixes."

"Delusional machines," another Cavil scoffed; "what's the universe gonna come up with next?"

"You said it, brother—but all of this moaning and groaning is getting us exactly nowhere." John wanted to get back to the business at hand. "Our communications are tied up in knots, and our lines of supply are badly overextended. We have eleven baseships in play, but we appear to be sandwiched in between two enemy forces that are operating more than two thousand light years apart. Our tactical situation is not optimal."

"There's really nothing to discuss," the Cavil who was always the last to arrive sniffed. "At least, I assume that none of us have decided to spice up our lives by courting permanent death. The fact that we only have one resurrection ship on hand dictates our strategy for us."

"Two," Cavil demurred; "you're forgetting the Hub."

"_What? You want to bring the Hub onto the battlefield?" _Cavil made a herculean effort to calm down. "Brother, you need to run a diagnostic. That kind of thinking could get you boxed."

"And just how safe do you think it is now? The Six knows it's out there, and you'd better believe that the Abomination can find it. The Hub … the Colony … the hybrids are the central nervous system of the entire collective, and Bierns can hack the whole grid. We need to ramp up our defenses, but we don't have the resources to protect the servers and fight a two-front war. We have to reconfigure our assets so that we can protect them and fight at the same time."

"So what is it that you're proposing? Do you want to split the fleet, and assign one resurrection vessel to each element?"

"Does anybody have a better plan?" John looked around the gathering. "I'll take five of the older baseships, as well as the Hub, and I'll go after _Galactica_. You take the rest of the fleet, including the resurrection ship and the three new hulls. Put the Six out of her misery—and don't worry about the Hub. The hybrids will keep it near the outer limit of its operational range. Adama will never find it."

"What about the Abomination?"

"Take D'Anna and Mara along for the ride." In the soft light, John Cavil's eyes were on fire. "The Six is right … we have to blackmail the bastard."

"That reminds me," one of the others asked, "where is Six? She's become a fixture at these little strategy sessions of ours."

"Enjoying the fruits of her labor," Cavil mocked. He had been personally coaching the sadistic blond in the erotic arts, and in turn the Six had been tutoring Mara Andreotis—tutoring her the hard way.

"Mara's mouth is shaping up nicely," he amplified, "but if any of you still detect flaws in her technique, just mention them to Six. When it comes to correcting mistakes, she really knows how to apply herself."

The Cavils looked at one another with smug satisfaction. The Ones loathed the proud and arrogant blonds, and as the first Six to turn against the plan, Mara Andreotis had richly earned the endless humiliations that she was now being forced to suffer. One day, perhaps, Natalie and Caprica would share her fate.

. . .

"This operation was costly … far too costly."

Natalie studied the Cylons and humans sitting around the conference table closely. She knew how to read her brothers and sisters, and she thought that she was getting better at interpreting human body language, but she was not at all sure how this meeting was going to go. For a brief moment, she wondered if the centurions, with their sophisticated electronic packages, had a better sense of the mood in the room than she did.

"Until now, our casualties have been few in number, and restricted to novice pilots who were making beginner's mistakes. But yesterday, Captain Katraine lost one-third of her Raptor force in a matter of seconds. Four veteran pilots are gone forever, and a fifth may never fly again. If the Eights have their way, Mr. Dalton most certainly will never fly again."

Natalie paused, once again trying to take the measure of her audience. The Cylons were composed. Still and quiet, they were obviously waiting for her argument to run its inevitable course. But the humans were shuffling uncomfortably in their chairs, and she could tell from the way they were glancing at one another that they were silently trying to figure out which of their number would take the lead in opposing her.

_So, my brothers and sisters agree that we cannot allow the humans to go on running unnecessary risks. Their numbers are too few, and we cannot afford to lose their contributions to the gene pool. But the humans want to fight, regardless of the cost. Their thirst for vengeance may never be slaked. They refuse to understand that they are playing right into Cavil's hands …_

"I believe that it is time for us to reconsider our tactics. We should assign the Raiders a greater role in aerial combat, and fill the gaps with Cylon pilots. For the time being at least, the Raiders lack the specialized skills that people like Angela Eight bring to the table."

"With all due respect, Commander …"

Natalie smiled inwardly. Rumor had it that Kevin Riley had faced down Kendra Shaw, forcing her at gunpoint to order the evacuation of _Pegasus_. Natalie was not surprised, therefore, that the young officer would take the lead in this meeting. She had asked the admiral to appoint Riley as Cynthia's XO in the hope that, in these strategy sessions, he would balance her own tendency to act first and think later. Leoben had lectured her more than once on the subject of impulsiveness, which she readily conceded to be a character flaw of the Six subset in operational command of the baseships.

"None of us signed up for the privilege of sitting on our asses. We came out here to do a job, and that's to take it to the bastards who murdered our people and destroyed our civilization. If the Raiders want a piece of the action … well, fine … but not at our expense."

"Besides," Kat cut in, "having machines do our fighting for us … isn't that how we got into this mess in the first place? Uh-uh … we're not gonna make that mistake twice. This time, we fight together. We've just got to get better, that's all … better training, better tactical analysis … we've got to do everything better."

"Kat, we appreciate your thirst for revenge," Simon gently countered, "but it does not serve our purpose well. The Raiders we lost in this battle have all downloaded, but your Raptor pilots are dead. Their knowledge, their potential … the children they might one day have given us …"

"My brother regrets the loss of Lieutenant Daniels," the Six who commanded Kat's baseship volunteered. "He was quite fond of Carousel."

A shocked look swept across Kat's face. "I'm … I'm sorry," she stuttered; "I didn't know."

"It doesn't matter," Simon said with his usual deadpan expression. "My sister is correct. The Ones would like nothing more than a long, drawn-out war with steadily mounting human casualties. Your species will be rendered extinct, but your pain and suffering will accord with their sense of justice. They win if you do not survive."

"So, what are we supposed to do," Riley heatedly countered. "Live out the rest of our lives in padded rooms, doling out our sperm on a daily basis so that you can have more of your precious hybrid babies?"

"_Kevin, that's enough!" _Louis Hoshi was the senior human officer present, and he wanted to nip this particular discussion in the bud. The question of cylon intent had caused bitter divisions to erupt within the ranks of the former _Pegasus_ crew. Riley was one of the many who worshipped at Cain's altar, and the late admiral had been firmly convinced that the rebel Cylons regarded humanity as little more than breeding stock. None of this sat well with the eighty odd crewmen who had so far built relationships with Eights. There had been no repeat of the mess hall brawl that several months earlier had pitted Peter Kelso against Ray Wang, but Hoshi wasn't about to kid himself. There was plenty of bad blood brewing between the two factions. Kelso had once been Riley's best friend, but now that Peter was living with one of the Sharons and talking openly about trying to start a family, the two officers were barely on speaking terms. Tensions were running high on all three baseships, and Hoshi was desperate to find some way to defuse the situation.

"No, Colonel," Natalie interjected. "Let Mr. Riley speak. It is better to clear the air than to allow resentments to fester."

"We're at war," Kevin growled; "and in a war, people die. The only thing wrong with this campaign is that _Galactica's _pilots are out there taking their shots, while our people have been largely relegated to support roles. We could put four full Viper squadrons in the air, and there wouldn't be a single nugget in the cockpit. It should tell you something that the one squadron we've deployed hasn't taken a single casualty. And as for the Raptors … hell, I don't even want to go there."

"By 'we' and 'our people'," Margaret sighed … "I suppose that you mean the _Pegasus_."

"Exactly," Riley acknowledged. "Let's face facts. Our pilots can fly circles around yours. It's simply a question of greater combat experience. The Four's right." Kevin nodded in Simon's direction. "We're losing people that we don't have to lose … nuggets who have no business being in the cockpit in the first place."

"May I ask," Gaeta inquired in a studiously bland tone, "how many of your pilots have volunteered to train on Heavy Raiders? How many are willing to share the cockpit with a Six or an Eight?"

Riley gave Felix a dirty look. "Less than a dozen," he grudgingly admitted.

"And how many hours have _your people_ spent training for joint operations with Raiders under Sonja Six's less than tender tutelage?" Kat favored Kevin Riley with a dirty look of her own. "I mean, Sonja's a first class bitch …"

"_Amen to that," _Racetrack muttered under her breath.

"But she taught us to take our egos out of the equation. We don't keep track of our kills, and we sure as hell don't paint them on the sides of our birds. We're not in this for the glory, and we lost our taste for vengeance when we realized that the centurions and the Raiders on the other side are all slaves. We fight as a team, so if you want to get into the arena, the first thing you've got to do is join the team. 'Less than a dozen' just doesn't cut it."

"Perhaps Admiral Adama didn't make it clear to you," Natalie added in her usual blunt fashion, "but you're on probation out here. Too many of your people openly idolize an officer who was little more than a pirate—and such flawed judgment does not inspire confidence. You want to engage in all-out war in order to avenge our attack on your home worlds—hence your refusal to come to terms with the fact that this is a precise surgical operation with very limited objectives. Most importantly, however, you have shown nothing but contempt for those among your friends who are cohabiting with Cylons. Frankly, Mr. Riley, we hesitate to assign you a larger role in this struggle because we're not sure whether you can tell your friends from your enemies."

"So," the former _Pegasus_ officer summarized, "all we have to do to get back into this war is roll over on our backs and let the Sixes and Eights scratch our tummies. If that's the price we have to pay …"

"In the aftermath of our victory, we opened dozens of breeding farms on Caprica and Picon," Cynthia said in disgust. She had been in the courtroom when Polyxena testified, and the young human's warring emotions had shamed her to the core. "Mercifully, very little came of it."

"Kevin, there is no _quid pro quo_ here." The Six had paused to gather her thoughts, but now she was looking at her XO, silently pleading for his understanding. "This is not about sexual blackmail. We are simply asking you to get your own house in order. The division within your ranks is a problem that has to be addressed; once it is behind us, we can reevaluate your contribution to the war effort."

"Now, let's get back to the problem at hand," Natalie urged. "How can we reduce our losses … and what are we going to do about the _Delos_?" In unison, the half dozen Cylons at the table turned expectantly to John Bierns. Their child had yet to say a word, but he rarely spoke at these gatherings, and they had gradually become more comfortable with his silences. He was, after all, a seasoned professional spy—and the cloak and dagger crowd were not famous for their conversation.

"We don't do anything," Bierns softly answered. "The _Delos _and _Diana_ form up on the resurrection ship, and they travel in convoy with us. L-7 and L-8 remain sealed for the duration. When we return to New Caprica, we honor our people with a public funeral, and we give them a proper burial. Everyone deserves that much."

The Cylons glanced around the table, seeking an unspoken consensus. A bare nodding of heads sufficed.

"We agree," Boomer concluded. She was also speaking up for the first time. "Even Cylons need closure." She carefully avoided looking in Cynthia's direction. Before the war, the Sixes on the baseships had all been unquestionably loyal, but Cynthia's hatred of humanity and all that it stood for had bordered on fanaticism. Her subsequent fall from grace had been swift and dramatic—and there had been no soft landing.

"What about our casualties," Boomer prompted. "Do you have any suggestions?"

Bierns pursed his lips, and quietly shook his head. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and Sharon suddenly realized that his attention was … elsewhere.

"I agree with everything that's been said," the First Born enigmatically remarked. "Beyond that, I have nothing to add."

. . .

"Admiral, are you _sure_ that you've done this before?" The smile on Polyxena's face was dazzling.

"It's been a while," Adama conceded. His expression gave nothing away.

"Well, this goes here … and that goes there … like so. But the trick is _not _to use your daughter as a pin cushion!"

"Xena's right, Bill … and you're starting to worry me." Shelly looked reproachfully at her husband. "Lee has always said that you were a terrible father, but I've never taken him seriously. I concluded that he was parroting his mother, and her opinion doesn't count. But if you can't change a diaper without drawing blood, what else can't you do?"

Under Polyxena's watchful eye, the two Adamas were practicing basic baby care on a pair of life-size dolls that Layne Ishay had sent up from the surface. At the advanced age of seventeen, and with nine years of babysitting experience behind her, the raven haired beauty had already come to the conclusion that both Adamas were going to need her help for the foreseeable future. The admiral was all thumbs, and while Shelly's copy of _Dr. Stork's Guide to Infant and Child Care_ was well creased, Polyxena was acutely aware of just how much the book left out. No pediatrician had ever written a guide with cylon mothers in mind.

_So, let's be honest here … this is a disaster in the making. There's nothing in the stream about looking after babies, and that's where Sixes go to learn whatever they need to know. Leaving Callista alone with her mother would amount to reckless endangerment. I wonder how Lee and Creusa are getting ready … and who's helping D'Anna look after little Samuel when Doc Cottle isn't around? There's just no way that a Three could be a fit mother. There's more warmth in an ice cube … _

"A little blood is one thing," Bill shot back, "but plopping a baby into her bath and splashing water in her face takes us where not even the Adama male has gone before!"

"Shelly, the admiral has a point," Polyxena giggled. "You had better let me give Callista her first bath, or your daughter may end up with hydrophobia!"

Shelly's face went momentarily blank while she processed the term, which she had never encountered before. Her onboard dictionary offered up a number of contrasting definitions, but she quickly discounted the references to rabies.

_We must be talking about an abnormal fear of water._

"All right," Shelly sighed, "tell me what I did wrong."

"Polyxena, give her the abridged version," Adama maliciously urged. "I have to be in the CIC in less than an hour."

Shelly gave her husband a dirty look, but held her tongue. She turned expectantly to her adopted daughter.

"Well, you did put a towel at the bottom of the tub, just like the book recommends …"

Polyxena was making a noble effort to sound encouraging.

"But you're supposed to dip her toes in the water," Bill interrupted, "not just throw her in headfirst …"

"_I did no such thing," _Shelly protested.

"And you're supposed to laugh and sing her a song while you gently splash water on her legs." Adama chose to ignore his wife's objections. "Do you know any songs," he asked pointedly.

A defeated look swept across Shelly Adama's face. The answer to that particular question was all too obvious.

"I can teach you the words to _Baby Bath Time_," Polyxena suggested.

"And that is my cue to leave," Adama said triumphantly.

"Admiral, you will do no such thing!"

Polyxena looked back and forth between her two charges, but she had already made up her mind how this lesson was going to go.

"I'll teach _both_ of you how to sing _Baby Bath Time_," she glared.

A defeated look swept across Bill Adama's aged features. He had been neatly painted into a corner, and he was man enough to admit it. But he refused to glance in his wife's direction. If the two women who ran his life from one minute to the next had concocted this bit of theater for his benefit, he didn't want to know about it.

. . .

"Creusa, you can't go on hiding from reality. Sure, Lee's a good guy and very well intentioned, but when it comes to children … he's an idiot."

Shevon placed a fresh cup of tea on the end table, where the heavily pregnant Cylon could reach it without trying to get up. Privately, the worldly wise prostitute didn't think that Creusa was capable of getting to her feet without assistance from the omnipresent centurion. She couldn't remember ever seeing anyone quite this pregnant.

"I mean … did I ever tell you about the time that good-hearted Lee scared Paya half to death? He gave her an old rag doll with one eye, and my daughter freaked out. People were seeing centurions in their sleep, and Lee gives my little girl a one-eyed doll. To this day, he still doesn't get it."

The two women had forged the most unlikely of friendships—one that went back to the night that the Sixes had intervened to save prostitutes and their children throughout the settlement from the Sons of Ares. Anthia Six had been brutally beaten to death by Enzo Carlotti's henchmen, creating a debt that Shevon and the other working girls were determined to erase. Schooling Creusa in the intricacies of child rearing had started out as a way to balance the ledger, but Shevon had quickly come to the conclusion that the Cylon was in many ways little more than a child herself. She had accordingly decided to take Creusa under her wing, and their relationship had evolved to the point where she thought of the Six as a younger sister—a younger sister who was in way over her head.

"Lee would never hurt Cyrene," Creusa protested. "He's going to be a great father."

"Oh, I have no doubt that Lee is looking forward to fatherhood … but leaving him alone with your daughter is an invitation to disaster. He'll probably drop her, or do something else that causes lasting damage. No, there's no two ways about it: you're going to need a full-time nanny."

Creusa's face went momentarily blank while she processed the term, which she had never encountered before. Her onboard dictionary offered up a number of contrasting definitions, but she quickly discounted the references to goats, both male and female.

_We must be talking about professional child minders._

"I know that we're going to need help," Creusa conceded, "but most of my sisters have already volunteered. I really don't want to disappoint them."

Shevon rolled her eyes in mock disgust. It was obvious that younger sister just didn't get it.

"Uh, Creusa … have you ever heard a human talk about the blind leading the blind? I can sum up what the average Six knows about child care in one word: _nothing_."

"But you're teaching us … you're teaching me! And I've already learned so much! Besides, how hard can it really be? No one's helping Sharon, and Hera is doing fine!"

"Creusa, don't you get it? Sharon's husband is the oldest of four children, and for years he helped out in the way that the oldest child in a tightly knit family always does. Karl Agathon is generous, emotionally untroubled, and blindly devoted to his wife and child. He has no need of our services, but socialators thrive on men like Lee Adama. His family was a train wreck, and like his father before him, Lee will never have any trouble persuading himself that duty to others takes precedence over duty to family. _That_," Shevon emphasized by lightly clasping the Cylon's arm, _"is how we met. Remember?"_

"Oh, frak," the young Six softly swore. She looked at Shevon with imploring eyes. "What am I going to do? The admiral and I talked about this just a couple of hours after I found out I was pregnant … how I'd end up raising two babies. It seemed funny at the time."

"And where is Lee … right this minute?"

Creusa blinked with surprise. "He left this morning on an inspection tour. He wants to make sure that our military outposts are ready to fight back if the Cavils take us by surprise."

"Didn't he make the rounds just last week?"

Creusa nodded silently in agreement. She was beginning to feel as miserable emotionally as she did physically.

"Your due date is only a couple of weeks away." Shevon had decided to take the gloves off; she was pressing hard. "If you went into labor right now, could Lee be easily reached? Could he get back in time to help you?"

"_No," _the Six quietly conceded. "In an emergency, I will have to rely on the centurion."

"And after the baby is born, is Lee going to take paternity leave for a month or two? Will he delegate some of his duties to others?"

"We haven't talked about it," Creusa confessed. "I guess … there are a lot of things that we haven't talked about."

"Then it's time," Shevon announced. She looked sympathetically at the Cylon while she tried to recall if she had ever been quite this naïve. "The two of you need to have a frank conversation, and you need to lay out some ground rules that Lee can agree to follow. If you don't, he will simply put you and the baby on his daily 'to do' list. He'll go off every morning to save the world, leaving you to fend for yourself. He'll be unswervingly faithful, and when he's around, you'll have no doubt that he loves you both. But he won't be around all that much, and you'll become more and more miserable. When you finally do work up the courage to complain, he'll deliver a learned talk on the subject of postpartum depression—which is how the sophisticated male tells his wife to stop whining and instead show some appreciation for how hard he works to support his family. Only in Lee's case, we're talking about the noble and selfless hero who goes out that door every single day for the sole and explicit purpose of safeguarding the future for all our children. It's the ultimate form of selfishness, and you have to combat it. You won't win a clean-cut victory, and you shouldn't even try. Your goal should be to get your husband to strike a rough balance between his public and private lives."

"But Lee swears that he's not his father … that he would never put his career ahead of his family."

"And he's telling the truth—at least as he sees it. The problem is that he doesn't _see_ public service as a career. You have to open his eyes … but Lee's fundamentally honest, and that gives you a big advantage here. Once you draw the problem to his attention, he'll attack it in his usual grim and systematic way."

"You're right," Creusa laughed. "Lee is so … _cylon_. He's as dependable as a Four or a Five, but much better looking, and far more inventive—especially in bed!"

"_Too much information," _Shevon groaned. She wasn't about to tell the love struck Six that Lee Adama had been one of her less creative clients. "Now, with regard to the nanny … here's what I suggest. When Lee gets home, broach the topic. Initially, he'll be shocked, but he'll quickly acknowledge that you need help. It shouldn't be hard to convince him that you need his help most of all. Let him think that you're out of your depth, and he'll rearrange his priorities in the blink of an eye."

"I do want him to be here for the delivery," Creusa admitted. The centurion never left her side, and some of the other Sixes came by every day, but it wasn't the same thing. She felt neglected, and she didn't understand how Lee could so callously abandon her every morning. She wanted him to stay home, where he belonged. She wanted Lee to love her and Cyrene, and leave it to someone else to save the world. Family came first: why couldn't Lee Adama see what every Six and Eight knew instinctively?

. . .

"D'Anna, you're nodding off again. Why don't you let me feed the baby?"

D'Anna Cottle wearily shook her head, and looked over her husband's shoulder. The clock on the wall said that it was the middle of the afternoon, but during the past month the once confident Cylon had gradually lost all sense of time.

"Sherman, will it always be like this? Does it ever get any easier?"

Cottle's eyes narrowed while he assessed his wife's condition and debated his answer. He had to tell her the truth, there was no question of that, but whether or not to sugar coat it was another question altogether.

"It'll get worse … a lot worse," he finally admitted. "There'll come a day when he'll bitch and moan that his parents are a couple of idiots … two fools who can't do a gods damned thing right. Eventually, you'll question whether the two of you are even speaking the same language."

"It can't get that bad," D'Anna argued, but there was a hint of desperation in her voice. "Surely, it can't get that bad?"

"Worse," the elderly physician replied. "You do everything you can for them. You set a good example … you teach them the best way you can … but there are no guarantees. Your average serial killer had loving parents."

"I'm just so tired," D'Anna confessed.

"When's the last time you slept through the night," he asked.

"Not since Samuel was born. Every night, I get up to feed him around two, and then around five. I'm cylon … I should be able to do this. Why am I such a failure?"

"_You're not,"_ Cottle rejoined. "You're a good mother; in my book, you're a damned good mother. But five weeks without a break is too much, even for a Cylon. Let me take care of Samuel. Doctor's orders: I want you to get some rest."

Sherman reached out and gently prized the child from its mother's arms. Anyone could give the baby its bottle, but D'Anna had become so desperately possessive that he suspected there was a fundamental flaw in the cylon psyche. Tensions were rising throughout the settlement. The food crisis wasn't getting any better, the Sagittarons were as uncooperative as ever, and he could still count the number of cylon pregnancies on two hands, despite the fact that well in excess of a thousand human and cylon pairings were in place. He had pressured Ellen Tigh more than once for answers, but she had fobbed him off every time with the same tired explanation: the safeguards were in place for a reason, and in any event the fabulous Final Five could only generate the antidote to their own convoluted programming by simultaneously entering the stream on the Colony. The latter's location, of course, was unknown …

_The Eights are getting desperate. They know that they're supposed to be in the vanguard of this brave new world of ours, but for some reason it's not happening. How long will it be before they start insisting that we download more Ones and start torturing them for the answer? Should we even try to stop them?_

"Ishay, please put D'Anna to bed for me. I'm free for the next couple of hours, and I don't get to spend near enough time with my son."

Cottle looked up at his nurse and long-time confidante, the message clear in his eyes. The lieutenant shared both his frustration and his worry, and she nodded brusquely to indicate that they were on the same page. She wrapped her arms around D'Anna, and gently eased the Three to her feet.

"D'Anna, you have a hospital to run, and tonight you're giving a service. A lot of people are depending on you, so you need to get some rest. Have you even thought about your sermon?"

Layne Ishay was still devoted to the gods of her parents, but she knew that humans had been converting to the cylon faith in growing numbers, and not simply those who had taken cylon partners. There was a wonderful simplicity to the cylon belief system that powerfully appealed to those who wanted a single divinity to hear their many pleas. The One True God required faith without sacrifice, and He sanctified principles that echoed the best of humanity's values. In a community with finite resources, prayer that did not need to be reinforced with tangible offerings was seductive in the extreme.

D'Anna stared at Ishay, her confusion plainly written on her face. "That's right," she murmured in a barely audible voice; "we're gathering tonight … along the riverbank … an open-air ministry. God calls upon us to worship Him in His own surroundings."

"That's right," Ishay echoed; the veteran nurse kept her voice low and calm. "But you won't be at your best unless you get some rest. Don't worry about Samuel; your husband will take good care of him."

"Raising a baby is so difficult," D'Anna opined. "I would never have believed that something so small and helpless could take such complete control of our lives."

"It's the hardest job in the universe," Ishay agreed. "Being President of the Colonies is child's play by comparison. Poor Gaius—three babies on the way, and not a clue to what it's all about!"

. . .

Karl Agathon scooped up his tiny daughter, and lifted her high over his head. He spun around … once … twice; he refused to stop even when he started to become dizzy.

"_Whirligig, whirligig," _he roared; _"Hera's the Queen of Heaven … the goddess in the sky!"_

"Helo, put Hera down before you drop her!" Sharon was intently studying the pile of medical records, trying to see a pattern that now seemed just beyond her reach. But Karl's laughter was contagious, and her concentration was ruined.

"Let's run, Hera! We don't want mommy to catch us when we're having such a good time!" Lowering the three month old to his shoulder, Helo dashed out of the tent, knowing that Sharon would be close behind.

"_You can't escape," _Sharon laughed. She jumped to her feet and ran outside, eager to join in the game.

Karl slowed down to circle a pair of startled Eights, but also to give his wife time to catch up. They were putting on a show, but it was all for Hera's benefit.

"_You're mine,"_ Sharon yelled as she wrapped her arms around Helo's waist. _"I've got you both!"_

"_What do you think, Hera?" _Karl twirled around so that his daughter could see the merriment written all over her mother's face. _"Do you want to laugh at mommy, or should we have a good cry?"_

Hera stared pensively at her mother, and Sharon would have sworn that her daughter was thinking about it: _should I laugh, or should I cry? _Sharon and Karl had been playing variations on this game for over a week, trying to coax a laugh out of their little girl. This was the fun part of parenting.

Hera's eyes suddenly lit with joy, and she gurgled out something that was a cross between a cough and a cry. Frowning, she raised her tiny fist to her mouth, and tried to gnaw on a knuckle. But she was still watching her mother, and Sharon knew with absolute certainty that Hera would try again, and that this time she would get it right.

Hera wrinkled her nose, and her eyes narrowed. Her hand flew away, and she coughed. It was a tentative sound, but she kept at it … and it quickly turned into a full-throated laugh.

Watching from a discreet distance, Dr. Amelie Fordyce added another mental note to her already thick file on Hera Agathon. It was obvious that the infant had extraordinary powers of observation, and learning skills that placed her at the high end of the developmental curve. Clinically, of course, it remained to be seen whether Hera would prove the exception or the rule among hybrid children—but in her gut Amelie already knew the answer. Genetics was the most dispassionate of sciences, and the cylon gene would give these children decisive advantages over their human counterparts. If the Cylons ever started producing children in numbers, in a few generations the human race as she knew it would be rendered extinct.

. . .

**The Next Morning**

**Day 357 ACH**

**Somewhere on the Outskirts of New Caprica City**

Marc Jacobs whistled softly under his breath while he continued to make breakfast for his two beautiful wives. He found the rattle of pots and pans curiously calming, and for reasons perhaps best left unexplored, few things in life brought him as much pleasure as the simple act of washing dishes. Once they had taken the measure of these rather harmless fetishes, Sharon and Philista had cheerfully agreed that, henceforth, the kitchen should be their man's dominion.

Eggs … venison steak—the aroma of frying food drifted across the well-equipped kitchen in their new home. Marc had called in a lot of old IOU's, and issued numerous new ones, in order to get his friends in the 3654th to pitch in and help erect the stylishly rustic structure that now stood on a bluff at the forest's edge. The site had been chosen to support Sharon's forays into the surrounding woods. They were now feasting on the buck that she had brought down the previous week—brought down with a bow and arrow. Sharon's hunting skills took the young engineer's breath away. In the forest, she moved in absolute silence. A twig never snapped beneath her feet, and no leaf rustled at her passing. She could remain unmoving for long minutes at a time, and she had an uncanny ability to hide her scent from the whispering breezes that occasionally parted the patchy ground fog. She was never lost or confused, and rarely came home empty-handed. She was the ultimate ground fighter, and Philista was busily trading Sharon's bounty and Marc's skills to make their home one of the most comfortable in the entire settlement. There was a reason why he was setting out breakfast dishes on a table that would easily seat twelve.

Without turning around, Marc sensed Philista Liu walk into the kitchen. He knew that she would be rumpled and still half asleep, her body fully relaxed from the lovemaking in which she and Sharon began every day. The Cylon, in contrast, would be wide awake and fully alert, ready for whatever challenges the day might hold in store for her.

Philista halted abruptly in the middle of the kitchen, and tasted the heavy odors that wafted through the air. She paled instantaneously, bent over involuntarily, and clapped her hand to her mouth. She dashed awkwardly to the sink, and began violently to heave. She vomited up phlegm and bile in small amounts, but there was so little food in her digestive system that her struggles were largely ineffectual.

Sharon rubbed her back in tight circles, seeking to calm her down, while Marc poured a small glass of water … just enough to rinse the foul taste out of Philista's mouth.

"Phi," he whispered, "I know it's hard, but even if you can't keep anything down, you still have to try and eat. You need the nourishment and … this will pass. It always does."

"Morning sickness," Philista weakly laughed; "what a bitch." She blindly reached out to clasp Sharon's arm, to give her reassurance. "Is it selfish of me, standing here wishing that yours had been the privilege of going first? This really sucks!"

Sharon looked at her wife with open warmth and sympathy, but in the shadowy orbs of her eyes the emotions in play were far more complex. Regret lingered in their depths, because it was like this now all over the settlement. Every day brought another dozen joyous announcements from the tribe of human women, and another round of wondering silence from their cylon sisters. In the well of Sharon Liu's soul, there were layers hidden away beneath regret—untapped lodes of jealousy and resentment that stood now on perpetual watch. It would take but one flick of an unseen switch, and the resulting explosion would be terrible to behold.


	12. Chapter 12: Over, Under, Sideways, Down

**The CAG is a senior officer on colonial battlestars, but the checkered career of Lee Adama pales in comparison with the real life story of Mitsuo Fuchida, whom this chapter honors. As the CAG on the aircraft carrier **_**Akagi**_**, then Commander Fuchida led the aerial assault on Pearl Harbor, and the subsequent attacks on Darwin, Australia, and the British naval bases on Ceylon. He was grounded by an emergency appendectomy at Midway, but survived the battle to finish out his career as a staff officer back in Japan. In 1945, he was the imperial navy's Air Operations Officer; a year later, he was reduced to subsistence farming in the village of his birth. Summoned to testify before the War Crimes Tribunal, he railed against what he styled "victor's justice," and set out to interview returning Japanese prisoners of war in order to prove that the Americans and British had been guilty of the very same crimes of which they accused others. In 1947, he stumbled upon his former flight engineer, Lt. Kazuo Kanegasaki, who had been captured at Midway and interned for the balance of the war at a camp in Colorado. Fuchida was stunned to discover that his friend, and many other Japanese internees, had been well treated throughout, but were tended with especial gentleness by a young social worker, Peggy Covell. The daughter of Christian missionaries beheaded by Japanese soldiers on Panay, in the Philippines, Margaret Covell's unbounded love for the very people who had slaughtered her parents shook Fuchida's faith in the Bushido code to the core. In 1950 he then came under the influence of the equally remarkable Jacob DeShazer. One of Doolittle's raiders, DeShazer was captured in 1942 and interned in China. Although brutally tortured over a period of some 40 months, DeShazer's camp conversion to Christianity inspired him to forgive his enemies, and at the war's end he moved to Japan to preach the gospel. Fuchida became an evangelical Christian, and devoted the rest of his life to a ministry that embraced Asia, America, and Europe. He died outside Osaka, Japan in 1976— the "Top Gun" who had once openly professed his admiration for Adolf Hitler but who ended up despising war. Luke 23:34 became Mitsuo Fuchida's personal gospel. It is at the center of his testimonial, **_**From Pearl Harbor to Calvary**_**, which is as inspiring now as when it first appeared in 1953. **

CHAPTER 12

OVER, UNDER, SIDEWAYS, DOWN

**Day 361 ACH**

**Somewhere Above and North of Kobol**

Hoshi's eyes never wandered from the makeshift DRADIS screen above his head, but his ears were constantly reaching out, straining to hear the sound that wasn't there. He had never truly adjusted to the silence that enveloped the cylon control center in the heat of battle. He missed the blaring alarm of the klaxons, the rhythmic cadence that had always calmed his own beating heart.

"Commander, I recommend that we commit another hundred Raiders to the attack. We need to see what they're holding in reserve."

Natalie Six had her hand in the stream, and her eyes were closed in intense concentration. The Hub was in constant motion, but the First Born had assured her that it had recently passed through this area of space, and was now heading towards the core. He wanted to destroy this particular server because its loss would severely disrupt the resurrection network, effectively isolating the Hub from everything in the vast region that lay between Kobol and the Colonies. The settlements on Gemenon were flourishing, the centurions, cylons and humans merging into a seamless whole powerfully underwritten by their increasingly shared faith in the One True God. Lacy Rand daily attended the strategy sessions at Galatea Bay, where John Bierns and his hybrid sisters constantly evaluated the intelligence gathered by their scouts, searching out valuable targets that came with minimal risk.

This was not one of them. The server was heavily defended, but Lacy had had little difficulty in persuading John and Natalie to target it. She had argued that they could not pass on so golden an opportunity to cut the Colonies off from everything in space for more than a thousand light years in any direction. The Blessed Mother had already shifted much of the burden of her office onto the capable shoulders of Gina Inviere, and with the vision of a true prophet the young Six was urging her people to mount an expedition to Aquaria. The watery world had had few people and even fewer settlements before the attacks, and the Colonial military had never had much of a presence on the planet. Since it hadn't warranted much attention, Gina argued that there was a good chance Aquaria's atmosphere and ground water had not been fatally contaminated by nuclear fallout. Life might accordingly begin anew on this primeval world.

The Twos and Threes had not been hard to convince: they all wanted to see Galatea Bay in person … to glimpse the heaven that awaited their souls when they ascended to God. Hungry for hard information about their shattered worlds, Gemenon's human population had proven no less eager to make the journey. The Colonies were visibly coming back to life, which made it imperative that the Cavils not learn their fate.

Natalie paid close attention to the pattern of the enemy's defense. Her plan was simplicity itself: attack the Raiders on their flanks, and try and draw them away from the server. At some point, a gap would open in the center of their lines, and she would pour an entire squadron of Vipers into the opening—Captain Emmanuelle Bronte's regulars from the _Pegasus_. She would have preferred to send in Angela Eight in the stealth ship, but the Six had politics to manage as well as a battle. This was her way of responding to Kevin Riley's complaints, and urging the hundreds of _Pegasus_ crew on her decks to get their act together. She hated risking human lives, but Larissa Karanis had warned her in no uncertain terms that the human male, when completely beaten down, often became sexually impotent. With almost a hundred Eights in the fleet all but wedded to their human partners, and with a top heavy proportion of the males in question being _Pegasus_ personnel, her hand had been effectively forced. Ignoring the Fours' strident objections, Natalie had decided to grant Riley his wish, and assign a greater combat role to the human pilots … for the time being. She wasn't about to tell anyone that things would change, and dramatically so, for any human who impregnated his Cylon spouse. Hybrid children needed- and deserved- the love of both parents, and if that required her to build padded rooms, then she would keep the centurions busy.

"I think it's time to show our hand," Natalie replied. She turned to John Bierns, who was immersed in a very different part of the stream.

"John, please order Olivia to jump her ship. I want her to launch two hundred Raiders at the center of their formation, and task another hundred to reinforce our assaults on each flank. We'll let Cynthia have the honor of winning this battle."

The First Born nodded, but remained silent. He was comfortable moving between the two adjoining dimensions, but simultaneously straddling two out of the seemingly infinite stack that made up the universe was a trick that he had so far practiced only in simulations. Deirdre and Reun did this sort of thing all the time, and they made it look easy, but John still felt as if his body was literally being cleaved in two. He could hear Natalie in his right ear, and Lacy Rand was whispering encouragement into his left. He could see the control room and he could see Galatea Bay … or to put it more precisely, he could see an infinite number of control rooms and Galatea Bays. They were above and beneath him, straight ahead and behind, to his left and right. They were everywhere and nowhere, perfect overlays that were somehow misaligned. It felt as if he was falling down a hole, at the bottom of which lay either the Big Bang or the Big Crunch. Not for the first time, he remembered Kara talking about the sensation of standing outside of time and space— an audience of one somewhere beyond the end of the universe.

John reached out to grasp Olivia by the hand. He had to touch her to make sure that she was really there. He transmitted Natalie's orders, and felt his sister wink out of existence as she returned to the here and now. The hybrid jumped her baseship, and instantly began transmitting commands to the Raiders. In a matter of seconds, the aeries began to empty.

"The second baseship has jumped in," Hoshi announced. "Cynthia Six is launching Raiders." Louis could hear the klaxons in his imagination, and he held onto them for dear life. The eerie silence was badly disrupting his concentration.

"_Two more baseships have just jumped in,"_ a blond haired Six called out from her secondary console at the far end of the room. Her mind flew back to the engagement over Caprica, when they had squared off against four of Cavil's craft in similar circumstances. She had awaited death that day, only to be spared by a series of impossible jumps that had badly bloodied the One's nose.

Hoshi watched as the icons rapidly shifted from yellow to red.

"_New enemy contacts,"_ he yelled; _"they're launching Raiders in strength … taking up defensive formation delta … now estimating four hundred inbound!"_

In their respective control centers, neither Natalie nor Cynthia Six experienced the surge of adrenaline that washed through their human officers. The hybrids did not share the human thirst for suicidal gestures, and both Reun and Olivia were battle tested. The two commanders remained passive as the hybrids rotated the ships to screen their FTL's, and sent hundreds of additional Raiders and Heavy Raiders pouring into space.

"_Missile batteries coming on line,"_ an Eight announced from the tactical station. She had fought so many battles that she could do her job by rote.

"The enemy vessels are also powering up their batteries," Leoben quietly warned.

"I'm activating the centurions to repel possible boarders," D'Anna advised. She sent the order through the stream, and Reun forwarded it. In less than fifteen seconds, ten thousand centurions switched to full combat mode. They streamed out of their niches and formed up in squads. Most trooped off to defend the landing bays, which were the most obvious point of entry on any baseship, but D'Anna decided to hold four battalions in reserve. In the Battle of the Resurrection Ship, the humans had used unorthodox tactics to capture one of Cavil's seemingly impregnable craft, and D'Anna wasn't about to dismiss the possibility that the Ones would take a page out of the same playbook.

"Natalie, our Raiders have aborted their assault on the server." The blond Six was drawing everyone's attention to their fighter element, which had abruptly broken off its attack and was now retreating in an orderly fashion. "They're adopting defensive formation bravo," she concluded.

"Twenty nukes inbound," Leoben interrupted; "but the Raiders have it under control." He knew that their birds would swat them all down—that they would hurl their bodies onto the missiles if that's what it ultimately took to save the nest.

Natalie walked over and laid her hand gently on John's arm. In the stream, every Cylon could plainly see that their First Born was under tremendous pressure, but Natalie needed him to do more, not less.

"John, you have to find Cavil's resurrection ship. I need to know its vector and distance. And can you talk to his hybrids? Can you get them to stand down?" She looked at him expectantly while she debated summoning Sharon to the control room. Natalie was keenly aware of the telepathic link between John and his unborn child, but there was no way for her or anyone else to assess the emotional damage that her demands might ultimately inflict on the baby. She would just have to rely on the Eight once again to pick up the pieces.

"Too many balls," he said through gritted teeth. The image of a juggler keeping a half dozen pyramid balls in constant motion washed through the stream. "I'm losing the connection to Pelea and Cassandra. It feels like I'm shorting out." He was standing in a pool of sweat, his clothing long since drenched. The First Born loved Cassie with every fiber of his being; she was his favorite, and having her fade in and out this way was infinitely frightening. It felt as it his mind was being carved up, and pieces of it casually jettisoned as he stood aside and tamely watched.

"It takes everything I've got to coordinate the battle with Reun and Olivia," he gasped. Breathing had become a challenge in its own right—but then no one had expected two baseships to drop by in the middle of what was for all intents and purposes the initial field test of an untried weapons system.

"_Major Bierns, listen to me!" _Hoshi had walked over, and he was now standing so close that he could have spat in the hybrid's face. _"You've got to stop this! You're trying to become the very battle computer that you've warned us about, but you're taking on too much, too fast, and it's not working! Let Reun and Olivia go; we've got redundant wireless communications, and they can do this on their own anyway!"_

Hoshi took a deep breath, and looked imploringly at the overburdened Colonial Secret Service officer. If Bierns collapsed, this battle would be over in a hurry.

"Concentrate on Pelea and Cassandra. Order them to jump the rest of the fleet. Send the support elements to the emergency coordinates, but they're to keep station two hundred MU's off our stern. Then, I want you to shift focus and locate Cavil's resurrection ship. We have to know where it is, Major. Do you understand me? If Cassandra's too far out, our dead birds will download on the wrong ship, and Cavil will be able to access whatever the Raiders know!"

Bierns managed to nod, and that was enough. Hoshi turned on his heel, and returned to his own post. He picked up the phone, and contacted Kevin Riley on a secure channel.

"Kevin, stay on the line," Hoshi ordered. "We're going to plan B: we're going to fight this battle the old-fashioned way."

. . .

John Bierns blinked several times to clear the sun out of his eyes, and then turned to look back down the beach. He saw Lacy Rand and Deirdre in the distance. They were deep in conversation with Cassandra and Pelea, but Deirdre was keeping a watchful eye on Ariadne, who was playing in the sand at her feet. He rushed off in their direction, and as he drew nearer they turned to confront him, the surprise evident on all four adult faces.

"_Child, what are you doing here? This is not part of the plan!" _The Blessed Mother's voice matched her expression: they were both equally stern.

"Sorry, Mother, but this is turning out to be a really bad day at the office. Two of Cavil's baseships just showed up, and that's two more than I can handle." Bierns hastily kissed his hybrid sister-wife, ran his fingers affectionately through his daughter's mop of unruly blond hair, and reached out to clasp Cassandra by the shoulders. He needed the reassurance that she was really there. "Cassie, I want you and Pelea to jump the rest of the fleet to the standby coordinates, but I need both of you to advance to a point two hundred MU's off our stern."

John rattled off the coordinates, but the statuesque hybrid didn't budge. "Brother, isn't that cutting it _a little close_? The cylon DRADIS might detect us."

"It's a game of chicken, Cassie, and the resurrection ship that comes in the closest is the one that will win."

"_If … _it survives; that's a big _if_."

"_Cassie …"_

"All right," she said in exasperation. The two sisters glanced at one another, and simultaneously flickered out of existence.

"It will take them a few seconds to signal the other ships," John needlessly explained. He was talking simply to have something to say. "Now, I have to locate Cavil's resurrection ship. If he's got the stones to come in close, we've had it!"

Bierns withdrew as abruptly as he had arrived. Oblivious to the crisis unfolding all around her, his infant daughter continued happily to play on the warm and sandy beach.

. . .

"Is my hybrid pet out there," the Six anxiously queried. Four of the Ones were in the stream, directing the engagement from the central console of their newest baseship. Her brothers could run rings around her in the stream, and she wasn't about to pretend otherwise. _"Is John on one of these ships?"_

_He's so close … he has to be here!_ The sadistic blond could feel her whole body coming alive, the sexual tension starting to build. She was eager to begin the game, knowing that it would end with the hybrid on his knees, submitting to her absolute will.

"If he is, he's keeping his telepathic mouth shut," Cavil sarcastically answered. "The hybrid doesn't sense him—and believe me, when she does … we'll know it."

"He's here," another Cavil asserted; "so, let's get ready. Six, get D'Anna and Mara up here—but I want them chained, and I want them gagged. This is a surprise party, after all, and I don't want either one of them to upset the timing. Collect my pet Eight while you're about it … oh, and while I'm thinking of it, bring a few of your more creative toys with you—the ones that inflict some serious pain."

"You know," still another One observed as he watched the battle unfold in the stream, "this is really boring. We throw nukes at them, and their Raiders swat them aside. They throw nukes at us, and our Raiders knock them down. Rumor has it that our new and improved baseships can fire off three missiles for every two that Natalie can toss back, so why don't we move in close and see if she'll blink?"

"Let's try this," the last Cavil to arrive announced. He walked up to the console, plunged a hand into the stream, and without further ado transmitted a new order to the hybrid. Two nuclear tipped missiles raced away from the ship, and Natalie's fighters closed in for the kill. But the deadly payloads weren't aimed at the rebel baseships. Instead, they detonated in two dense clusters of Raiders, tearing holes in the outer layer of her defense.

"The bravo formation," Cavil smirked. "Natalie never did learn how to space her assets properly!"

. . .

"_Frak," _the blonde Six yelled from her console. "Two nukes, but they were aimed at our perimeter defense. We've just lost … a hundred and thirty-five Raiders."

"They're trying to punch holes in our defensive shell," Natalie summarized as she brought Hoshi up to date. "But what are they going to throw at us?"

"Both enemy baseships are accelerating," the Six called out. "They're coming straight for us!"

That was all Natalie Six needed to know. "Mr. Hoshi, order my sister to come hard to port, train all of her ventral batteries on the lead ship, and rake it as she passes." Natalie picked up another phone, and patched through to Racetrack. The CAG was situated in her now customary perch, her Raptor sitting directly above the baseship's central axis. She had a splendid view of the entire battlefield.

"Maggie, we're going to attack, but I want you and Puppet to hold your present position. I still want that server, and you're going to get it for me. Launch the blackbird, and tell Angela to go in from well below the horizon. Keep your squadron high, and try and coax the defenders off station. Give her a clear shot, and order the Eight not to fool around. She's got eight missiles, and I expect her to come home empty-handed!"

Switching gears, Natalie dove back into the data stream. She had developed such a rapport with Reun that the hybrid could anticipate her desires. The ship began to accelerate on a collision course towards the more distant enemy baseship a fraction of a second before she gave the order.

. . .

"Natalie is dividing her force. It looks like she's going to try and flank us." In the stream, the One was watching intently as the two rebel baseships turned onto their new headings.

"How obliging of her," one of his brothers sneered. He was also following the Six's movements in the stream. "She seems eager to do our work for us; who are we to object?"

The rattle of chains caused Cavil to look over his shoulder, and he smiled malevolently at the sight that awaited him. The Six was using a cattle prod to encourage her two prisoners to keep moving, and the image pleased him. The Sixes had willingly degenerated into a herd of sex-starved beasts, so it might be fairly said that Mara Andreotis, who now spent most of her waking hours on her knees, had at last found her proper station in life.

Cavil welcomed Mara and D'Anna with a false smile, and gestured expansively around the control room. "We've caught up with two of Natalie's baseships," he indicated, "and they seem to be spoiling for a fight. Well, we're in a cooperative mood today, so we're going to play along. It will give us a chance to evaluate the new weapons and navigation systems that the hybrid has been mastering in simulations. But we all know that combat is the real test."

"True … true," the pornographically obsessed Cavil remarked as he glanced at the two victims he had so enjoyed tormenting. "But we have a special treat for you. Do you wanna guess whose ass is currently parked on one of those two ships out there? Why, Three, your long-lost son is _that _close to hand." He held his thumb and index finger about an inch apart. "Rumor has it that the last time you saw him, the whelp was nursing at your teat. But since then, I gather that he's moved on to other breasts. Was it good for you, Six?"

Cavil's eyes were on fire as he closed the distance between them, finally standing nose to nose with Mara. "Did he like to suckle on these," the One asked as he fondled her naked breasts. "You spent all those months frakking each other silly, but did it _taste different_ once you found out who he really was? Did you want to give the baby of the family a baby of his own?"

"Well, never fear, my sweet." Cavil patted Mara lightly on the cheek. "Once we figure out which ship he's on, we're going to hail them. We want the three of you to have a chance to talk … maybe have a good cry. Why, if things go well, the three of you might even have a reunion. Wouldn't that be sweet?"

"_We've got him,"_ still another One crowed as he withdrew his hand from the stream. "He's sniffing around the resurrection ship; the hybrid responded to him instantly. The Abomination's on the ship closing on a constant bearing."

"Excellent," Cavil nodded. He was really pleased with how the battle was unfolding. "Brother, turn both of our ships onto new headings. I want to flank the other ship, but don't fire until I give the word. I've got something special in mind."

"This is intriguing," another Cavil interrupted. "Natalie's resurrection ship has just appeared on DRADIS. It's only two hundred MU's out, with a third baseship for escort. She wants us to know it's there."

"Hmm … she's taunting us, isn't she? Never mind … two can play this game. Instruct our resurrection ship to close to two hundred MU's as well!"

"And the escorts?"

"Two of them … Natalie will know something's wrong if we don't task two baseships to protect it. But for the time being … why don't we keep the fifth ship under wraps?"

. . .

"Cynthia has just unleashed a volley of forty nuclear missiles," the Eight reported. "They're all targeted at the lead baseship. Cavil's Raiders are moving to intercept."

"Let's keep them busy," Natalie growled. "Sharon, hit that ship with a full volley from our dorsal batteries, but I also want you to fire ten missiles, conventional ordnance only, at the server."

The Eight instantly complied, and Natalie studied the results of her handiwork in the stream. She didn't expect any of her missiles to make it through to the resurrection node, but her objective was to force the Raiders to move forward. She wanted to pull them as far away from the installation as possible.

_And they've taken the bait,_ she noted with satisfaction. In the stream, she could see Emmanuelle Bronte and her Viper squadron already charging into the gap that had suddenly opened when the Raiders previously clustered around the server swarmed to intercept Natalie's strike package.

Natalie turned her attention back to the two enemy baseships. The lead vessel had altered its course, and now appeared to be making a direct run at Cynthia's ship. It was closing fast. Several of the Six's nukes had exploded among Cavil's Raiders, decimating their ranks and creating holes in the lead ship's point defense. As she eavesdropped in the stream, a lone missile slipped through the gap and tore into one of the baseship's spindly arms. A spectacular fireball momentarily lit up the night, and when it died away, Natalie could see that the outer half of the lead dorsal had been sheared off.

She focused on the second baseship, which was lagging behind but now following a course that would soon position it on Cynthia's vulnerable stern.

"They're trying to flank Cynthia," the Six at the navigation console shouted.

"Bring us about," Natalie ordered. "Keep closing the range … we've got to keep that ship off Cynthia's back!"

Natalie mentally ran through her options, and came to a quick decision. "Six, order our Raiders to engage their counterparts. Sharon, target their central axis and FTL's … launch from every available battery on the trailing ventral. Let's see if we can get the Ones to sit up and take notice."

On the opposite side of the console, a quizzical expression settled on D'Anna's face. She was holding a phone, and she used it to gesture in Natalie's direction. "Sister … it's Cavil. He wants to talk with you and John."

. . .

"_Come to mama, you mother frakkin' frakker!"_

Sitting quietly in her cockpit, Angela Eight was eavesdropping on the pilots' chatter, while she projected the battle that was unfolding ahead and above her.

"_You want some of this? Well, come and get it!"_

Angela had served alongside the humans long enough to understand that Catbird and Thumper were both on adrenaline highs. The two females always started their running commentary with their first shot, and they wouldn't shut up until they were back on the deck and in their racks. Boomer had repeatedly warned them to get off the air, but like all of the _Pegasus_ jocks, these two seemed to obey the orders issued by their cylon CAG only when they felt like it.

"Would you two puh … lese shut up?"

Angela couldn't help but smile. Boomer had become so human that the inflections in her speech and her personal mannerisms were now as complex as those of the pilots she constantly tried to corral. Angela could hear the irritation in her voice.

"_Ninja … roll right … roll right … yeah … splash one turkey!"_

Firelli and Fuchida had it down to a science. Freaker would range ahead of his wingman, creating a gap that had lured more than a dozen Raiders to their deaths. The unsuspecting bird would leap on what it considered to be easy prey, only to have Ninja close the gap and turn it into red goop. Since the Raiders always downloaded on their resurrection ship, the enemy fighters still hadn't caught on to the fact that they were being played for suckers.

But this particular Raider had fallen victim to another one of their patented stunts. Fuchida would play dumb, allowing one of Cavil's birds to slide into his six. Then he would suddenly accelerate while Firelli flipped his own Viper end to end, and headed straight for his wingman. Ninja would break left or right—however his fellow pilot called it- and Freaker would record his kill while flying straight and level—the easiest shot in the books.

"_Now, for my next trick …"_

"_Ninja, keep your head in the game," _Racetrack barked. _"There'll be no living with your girlfriend if you go and get yourself killed out here."_

Angela had the grace to blush. She was still trying to cope with the fact that she had somehow acquired a human boyfriend. Mitsuo Fuchida resembled her so closely that they could have passed for brother and sister—but there was absolutely nothing fraternal about what they were doing in Angela's overlarge bed on those nights when Ninja could slip aboard her baseship.

"_And next time, break left," _Puppet broke in. _"Remember, we're trying to pull these frakkers away from the server, not nudge them toward it."_

Captain Emmanuelle Bronte was also trying to ride herd on her recalcitrant pilots. The _Pegasus_ fliers had acquired a well-deserved reputation for showboating, but the battlefield wasn't the place to try and earn style points. Angela was hard-pressed to understand how these showoffs had so far managed to avoid taking a single casualty.

_Disobedience must be contagious, because I am sorely tempted …_

In the abstract, Angela knew that this was the most ambitious command and control exercise her fleet had ever undertaken. The _Pegasus _squadron had launched from Natalie's baseship, yet it was still under Boomer's command. But Boomer was reporting to Racetrack, who was managing the aerial assets of both baseships. No one, however, had expected the Cavils to crash the party, and parking their resurrection ship just off the edge of the battlefield had made a complete mess of Natalie's finely tuned tactical plan. It was obviously bait for the kind of trap that the Ones always liked to set, and the Six had accordingly decided to pass on the opportunity.

_But the Ones don't know about our stealth capability. I could fly in right under their noses and really ruin their day …_

"_Rockin' Robin, you are cleared to the target; good hunting!"_

The sound of Margaret Edmondson's voice pulled Angela out of her reverie, and brought a smile to her lips. At one time, Angela had expected to share her bed with her mentor and friend, but if the rumors swirling around the fleet were true, then little Pyrrha now had two mommies.

Angela eased forward on the throttle, but as soon as she had acquired sufficient forward momentum, she cut her engines and went into a glide. With her weapons and navigational systems off line, her ship was as invisible electronically as the carbon composite made it to the naked eye.

It took long minutes to close on the server … long minutes in which, above her and to the left, Cavil's Raiders continued to explode in miniature starbursts.

Angela finally entered the kill zone, and with a flourish of her own threw the switches that armed the eight missiles in her recessed pods. She confirmed the targeting data, which she had preprogrammed for zero bearing and carom.

She fired.

The missiles surged forward, and closed unerringly on the defenseless target.

They struck home, and a much larger fireball lit the galactic night.

The proximity alarm in Angela's cockpit went off, and without thinking she engaged her stick, pushing it hard to the right.

The shrapnel that, only moments before, had been a Raider slammed into the unlucky stealth ship, bursting its fuel nacelle. There was no time to eject.

Angela was suddenly engulfed in a field of intensely bright light. She knew that she would download- at the end of the day death was really nothing more than a learning experience for any Eight- but as her consciousness began to dissolve and flow outward towards the waiting stars, she had time for one last, appalling thought:

_On which resurrection ship?_

. . .

John and Natalie exchanged equally puzzled looks, and then Bierns shrugged his shoulders. "Why bother guessing? Let's just see what he wants."

Natalie nodded, and gestured for D'Anna to make the connection.

"Cavil, this had better be good." Natalie's voice dripped acid. "I just finished lunch, and I am not in the mood for indigestion."

"Ah, sister … it's so good to hear the sound of your honeyed voice! I can't begin to tell you how much I've missed the keenness of your wit!"

Natalie rolled her eyes; the One was being his usual sarcastic self. "Oh, you've always been a riot, Cavil, I'll give you that … but it's the missile attacks that make your talent for repartee so deadly."

"Ah, I just wanted to get your attention. You've got to admit that there's been no real harm done. So far, we've acted with deliberate restraint … _so far_."

Natalie's hand was still in the stream, and she was keeping a wary eye on Cavil's baseships. It was true that they had gone strangely quiescent—but they were still maneuvering at high speed, forcing her to keep pace in order to prevent Cynthia's ship from being trapped between them. Hundreds of Raiders were caught up in their own individual duels, but what especially worried her was the presence of Cavil's resurrection ship. It was hanging there in space, so tantalizingly close, the most inviting of targets despite the two baseships currently guarding it. And Cavil was doing nothing to reinforce the server's defenses, when it was obvious that the resurrection node was what had summoned her here in the first place. The Cavils were devious … they loved labyrinthine schemes. Everything about the current set-up screamed _trap_, but that implied that Cavil had known she would be here. How? How could he possibly have known where to find her?

"I'm ashamed to admit that some of humanity's kinder impulses have contaminated my thinking," Cavil continued. "My elite centurion bodyguard consists exclusively of units that downloaded off your ship over Caprica, and all of the Raiders that you're now shooting down used to nest on your ship as well. The Simons insist that they still have a sentimental attachment to their mother ship, but even if that's true, I suspect that it won't survive this day."

Natalie didn't bother replying. Instead, she turned towards the Eight at the tactical station. Angela had started her attack run, and Natalie wanted to keep the Cavils preoccupied. She slammed her fist into her open palm, and nodded in Cavil's direction. The Eight didn't need any further encouragement; she launched another flurry of missiles at the enemy baseship. Simultaneously, John Bierns returned to Galatea Bay, where he knew that he would find either Pelea or Cassandra awaiting orders. He wanted the two ships to close the range by another fifty MU's.

"But I digress," Cavil continued. He ignored the missile salvo that was now bearing down on his ship. "If he's there, I wonder if I might speak with my old friend, Louis Hoshi?"

That startled everyone in the control room. Natalie stared wordlessly at her XO, the confusion on her face apparent for everyone to see. She gestured in his direction with an open palm, inviting him to take over the conversation if he so desired.

"I'm here, Mr. Cavil." Hoshi remained calm, and his tone was excruciatingly polite. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, Colonel, it's more about what I can do for you. First, I want you to know that Aaron won't be hunting you down in search of revenge … you know, the scorned lover? When they downloaded, he killed your poor, love struck Eight as fast as he could get to her. In fact, he became positively obsessed with killing her. That copy was obviously defective, so we boxed him—permanently. When last seen, his CPU was sitting atop a missile, and the missile was breaking up in the lower reaches of the atmosphere of a nearby gas giant. So, your Eight is safe, but I'm afraid that the poor thing had a nervous breakdown nevertheless. In order to stabilize here, we had to go in and tweak her programming a bit. I think that your doctors call the procedure a … lobotomy?"

"_You lobotomized one of your own sisters? You're something else, Mr. Cavil … you really are!"_

"Now, now, Colonel … your Eight still remembers you fondly. Don't you, my dear. Come … come … say hello to your dashingly handsome young officer."

"_Louis?" _The Eight's voice was quivering, the one word filled with unmistakable longing and transparent desires.

"_Sharon?" _Hoshi was clinging to the central console so hard that the blood had drained from his face. He glanced over his shoulder at the Eight who was manning the tactical station. Her face had gone rigid, a mask frozen in an infinitely complex mix of pain, despair, rage and hatred. Natalie … Natalie looked like a woman possessed. If Cavil had somehow materialized in that moment on the deck in front of her, Louis had no doubt that she would have torn the sadistic monster limb from limb with her bare hands.

"She's compliant now, Louis … compliant, and oh so needy. But this is what the Eight series was created for … did you know that, Colonel? The Eights' singular purpose in life is to love humanity. They're mechanical slaves, all of them … driven by an obsessive need to experience human love, and to give you children. If you'd like, we can declare a truce, and I'll ship her over to you. Why, I guarantee that she'll now bring your every fantasy to life … do _anything_ to secure your love. Indeed, we're so pleased with the results of her modification that we're bringing an entire new generation of Eights on line—heat-seeking missiles with but a single target … machines that will never relent in their determination to love the human male. I must say, Admiral Adama is in for quite a surprise when we catch up with the rest of your fleet!"

"_Louis?"_

_Gods, how can there be so much heartache in that one, spoken word? _Hoshi berated himself for having been blind to how vulnerable Sharon's emotions had made her, but he had never suspected that Cavil would torture his own. The bastard had stuck the knife in deep, and then he had twisted it—and Hoshi readily admitted that there was no way he was ever going to dig it out. If he survived this day, he would have a whole new layer of guilt to contemplate when he stared at himself in the mirror tomorrow morning.

Louis willed himself to remain calm. He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Maybe … just maybe … he could drive home a blade of his own devising.

"Oh, you can keep her, Mr. Cavil. I thought you understood that my interests lay … elsewhere. It's really to be regretted that you destroyed Aaron … I quite liked _him_!"

A long silence ensued, and Hoshi knew that he had scored with a thrust of his own. Maybe, one day, he would be able to save Sharon after all.

"Ah, well … in war these kinds of mistakes happen," Cavil finally retorted. "Now, if you will, I'd like to speak with my son. Hello, John … have I ever told you how proud you've made me? Your ability to commune with the hybrids … when I conceived you, it was with the hope that this day would come. But you … truly, you have surpassed all of my expectations. Son … welcome home."

. . .

"Aw, it doesn't look like Natalie's going to take the bait," the black-clad Six lamented. She was standing at the far end of the vast control room, with her fingers immersed in the stream of an auxiliary console that, on the previous generation of baseships, had been devoted exclusively to navigational input. She removed her hand, and used Mara's short, blond hair to wipe the goop off her fingers. She leered triumphantly when the traitorous Six dropped her eyes submissively to the deck. But D'Anna was glaring at her. Against all odds, the Three was still holding on to the shreds of her dignity. Rape and sodomy, endless verbal humiliation, the horror of watching her sisters being dissected one after another—and now the collar, with its gift of endless pain, delivered in such carefully measured amounts. And yet she still resisted, still refused to bow the knee and accept the inevitable.

_She really is the prototype for her entire model, _Six reflected. _The Threes have always been the most tough minded, and the most determined. They bow before God, but never before man or machine._

"What's it gonna take," one of the Cavils queried in an exasperated tone. He was speaking in a low voice that did not carry deep into the chamber. Nothing could interrupt _that_ conversation. "Do we have to park the resurrection ship right under her bloody nose? Surely Natalie isn't going to settle for blowing up a rear echelon server node when the real prize is right on her doorstep?"

"We may be underestimating the Abomination," another brother murmured thoughtfully. "If he can sense the presence of baseships in addition to their hybrids, then we might as well shoot ourselves and spare Natalie the trouble. As it is, I'm worried that he's found the ship we've been hiding …"

"_Impossible," _the pornographically inclined Cavil quietly but emphatically protested. He was stroking his pet Eight; he wanted her to be fully aroused and moaning loudly in the background when the trap finally snapped shut. Deception and distraction were the keys to this particular battle. "We disconnected the damned hybrid to prevent him from sniffing her out. There's no way on Caprica that he can know about the fifth baseship …"

"_Now, if you will, I'd like to speak with my son. Hello, John … have I ever told you how proud you've made me? Your ability to commune with the hybrids … when I conceived you, it was with the hope that this day would come. But you … truly, you have surpassed all of my expectations. Son … welcome home."_

"Everybody … shut up! This is about to get interesting." With a sweeping gesture, the most devious of the Ones urged his fellow Cylons forward.

. . .

"Come, John, is this really the best you can do?" The First Born audibly sighed, a calculated response that at once conveyed his impatience and his disappointment. "You must know that the CSS ran my DNA over, under, sideways and down. My father was human, John, so don't bother going there."

"Oh, we used human DNA, I grant you that … never could get the damned embryos to stabilize without it. But you can't make bread rise without yeast … you know how it goes …"

"Is there a point to this conversation," Bierns interrupted. The intelligence agent's instincts had kicked in; he had played far too many games of his own not to recognize that Cavil was trying to manipulate him the same way that he had jerked Hoshi's emotional leash.

"Son, did you ever take a good, close look at the Raiders … at their brain matter, I mean? Did you ever wonder why that one Raider was so taken with Kara? Would sit up and do tricks for her, but not for anyone else?"

"The answer was so frakking obvious that I never bothered to check," John laughed scornfully. "Kara's hyper aggressive and so temperamental that I've always assumed you messed with her DNA … added a bit of Raider to her genetic cocktail, so to speak. Or did you draw upon a Cerberus hellhound? They also treat her like one of the pack!"

"You're close, but you've got it the wrong way around. . . ."

. . .

Hoshi picked up the phone. The exchange with Cavil had left him badly shaken, and it was only with a supreme effort of will that he could concentrate on the voice at the other end of the line.

"We've registered an isolated explosion in the general vicinity of Rockin' Robin's last known position," Racetrack reported. "We can't raise her on the wireless. Do you want to send in a search and rescue bird?"

"Negative," Hoshi hesitantly replied. He kept his voice to a whisper. "We can't hide a Raptor from cylon DRADIS. If we start prowling around out there, the Cavils may figure out what we've been up to."

"But Angela could have ejected," Racetrack protested. "She could be hurt … and in less than two hours she'll be out of air!"

"She'll download," Hoshi coldly answered. "Bierns has moved our resurrection ship forward. Right now, we own the battlefield. Let's keep it that way." The XO broke the connection, and returned his attention to the bizarre conversation that was still unfolding between the two arch nemeses.

. . .

"So, you combined my DNA with Kara's, and the end result of that little experiment is the Raiders." Now it was Ghostrider's turn to roll his eyes. "Tell me, John: do you suffer from constipation?"

"No," Cavil responded. He was momentarily taken aback because, unlike Hoshi, the Abomination was nimbly resisting the lure. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you are so full of shit," Bierns shot back. "I know the identities of the Five, and Anders and I once talked about their individual areas of expertise. The Raiders came up in the conversation. I know precisely who created them, and how."

The silence that already gripped the control room deepened dramatically. Natalie looked at John as if she was seeing him for the first time, while D'Anna and Leoben both studied him appraisingly. It was now more apparent than ever that the first born of the hybrid children was a man of many secrets.

"Dr. Foster came up with a prototype," Cavil smoothly replied; "but we improved upon it. You're dealing with third generation Raiders … _our creations_. If you don't believe me, have Dr. Baltar check it out. He should be able to match the DNA samples without difficulty. You and Kara … think of yourselves as parents. The Raiders are your children."

Bierns was still pondering his next insult when a sultry female voice suddenly entered the conversation.

"Hello, John; my name is Six. We've never met, but I feel like I've known you for a long time. Kara and I are good friends. We once toured the Delphi Museum together; you might say that we share a keen interest in antiquities."

"_John, be careful," _Leoben hissed. _"This is the Six who would have killed Kara if Thalia hadn't intervened!"_

"I've heard a lot about you as well, Six." Bierns knew exactly whom he was dealing with. "You're the sick frak who beat Sharon Agathon senseless on a Delphi rooftop. You know what we call people like you and Cavil … people who only get off by hurting others? Look it up in the stream, Six; you're a frakking psychopath."

"Tsk, tsk, John … what a foul mouth you have. I've been debating how to begin your training once you become my slave, but the answer is now quite clear: the first thing I'm going to do is wash your mouth out with soap."

"A psychopathic machine with delusions of grandeur," Bierns snorted. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Child, you are so wrong about me … about everything, really. You are going to come to me of your own free will. You will kneel before me, and willingly bare your neck to receive the obedience collar that awaits you. You will do these things because you are an honorable man who would never allow others to suffer in your stead … especially the people you love … people like … Mara."

Six removed Mara's gag, and pushed her abused captive forward. "He can hear you, Six," the sadistic overseer sneered. "Why don't you say hi to your long, lost love?"

But Mara bit down hard on her lip, desperate to avoid the ultimate humiliation that her captors could inflict upon her.

The Six grinned malevolently; she had been hoping for just this response. She activated the collar, and gave the dial a hard twist.

Mara involuntarily dropped to her knees, screaming in agony. Behind her, one of the Cavils plunged his hand into the stream and issued a simple three word order to the waiting hybrid: _do it now!_

A single Raider jumped away, its destination the lone baseship that the Cavils had so carefully kept hidden well beyond the edge of the battlefield.

John Bierns felt his blood run cold, but Natalie Faust was incandescent with rage. _"I warned you, Cavil! I warned you what would happen if you played this game! You've sewn the whirlwind, and now you're going to reap it!"_

"_John? John … I'm sorry … I'm sorry about everything …"_

Natalie didn't bother trying to mask her orders. She whirled on the Eight, and ordered her to hit the other baseship with everything they had. She wanted to send these frakkers to Hell, and she wanted to do it now!

John Bierns heard not the words that his beloved Mara was blubbering, but the endless suffering and pain that underlay them.

"_Mara," _he whispered. His voice was as fragile as the most delicately spun glass—glass that now began to shatter all over the control room's floor. Memories barely repressed washed through the haggard CSS officer like an unstoppable tide … the night, long years before, when he had confessed his true nature to the woman he loved—the night he had fallen so willingly into her arms … the day when she had turned against Cavil's plan for humanity's destruction … her murder at the foundry …

In the stream, Leoben watched as both ships launched a veritable blizzard of missiles at one another. At this range, on both sides the Raiders were badly overmatched. Both ships were going to take serious hits.

At the navigational console, Six was behaving like a drunken sailor on leave in the dingiest bar on Picon, hurling orders to Reun to pitch the ship one moment and roll it the next. But Cavil's missiles kept slamming home … one of them with sufficient force to knock everyone in the control room off their feet. The acrid smoke caused by burning wiring began to permeate the air.

"John, I do _so love_ family reunions." The psychotic Six's mockery was unrelenting. "Why don't you say hello to your beloved mother?"

"_Child … no … get out! It's a tra …"_

D'Anna's warning turned into a blood-curdling scream, but John would have recognized his mother's voice anywhere.

D'Anna's scream broke off, and then without warning started anew.

"It's amazing how much pain you can inflict by yanking on an exposed fingernail or toenail with a pair of pliers," the Six sniffed. "Be patient, John; we only have eighteen more to go … and then I'm going to get started on her teeth. Of course, you can end this anytime you want. Just say the word, and this battle stops dead in its tracks. A simple exchange is all we require—you become my slave, and your mother and your girlfriend go free. That's fair, isn't it?"


	13. Chapter 13: Le Xuan

CHAPTER 13

LÊ XUÂN

Natalie's control room was in chaos. Preliminary reports indicated that two of her vessel's lateral arms had suffered heavy damage. And according to Racetrack, Cynthia's baseship was in even worse shape. Despite the open wound that had once been its trailing dorsal, Cavil's lead ship had continued to close the range on its chosen prey, and its rate of fire was turning out to be far above computed norms. Missiles were literally hemorrhaging out of Cavil's launchers, and the Raiders on Cynthia's point defense were being chewed up by the dozens. The baseship itself had been pummeled, taking at least four solid hits at various points on its vast fuselage.

Emmanuelle Bronte hadn't waited for Boomer to give the order. As one, the _Pegasus_ squadron had hurled itself onto the backs of Cavil's Raiders. The latter clearly tasted blood in the water, and like frenzied sharks, they were swarming in schools around Cynthia's increasingly vulnerable craft. For better or for worse, this baseship was their home, and Puppet's squadron wasn't going to lose it without a fight.

"We're holding our own," Leoben shouted. He reached over, yanked the phone out of D'Anna's hand, and brutally pulled it out of its socket. Mara's screams, and D'Anna's, abruptly ceased. "Two of our missiles have struck home, including one on the central axis. Natalie, we need to launch our Vipers and reinforce our sister's defenses. Cynthia can't take much more of this!"

Hoshi needed no further encouragement. He grabbed his phone and passed the order to Racetrack. Every Viper pilot on the ship was suited up and in the cockpit, a reserve force that had been on high alert from the beginning. He knew that they would be entering the thick of the battle in less than sixty seconds. . . .

Daniel Novacek shot out of the launch tube, and he didn't waste time looking for his wingman. Bulldog turned hard to port, and raced off to enter the fray. If he could just convince Cavil's Raiders that the real danger was behind them, then they might be distracted in sufficient numbers to buy the baseship the precious seconds that it needed to regroup. . . .

"_Come on, you mother frakking sons of bitches!" _Thumper was firing continuously now, the Raiders swarming in such dense packs that there was no possibility of missing. There was so much red goop on her canopy that her vision was badly degraded, and she was beginning seriously to entertain the possibility that the barrels of her twin mounts would melt. . . .

A gigantic explosion rippled across the base of the pylon on Cynthia's ship. Debris went flying, some of the chunks large enough to impale Raiders on both sides unfortunate enough not to get out of the way. A steady stream of bodies suddenly began to spill out of the massive gash where the lower decks had been opened to space. . . .

"_Catbird … on me,"_ Puppet screamed. _"We're gonna make a run at the baseship's central axis … deck 22. I'm gonna try and kill its hybrid!"_

The two female pilots abruptly reversed course, and tore off at high speed in the direction of the lead baseship. The desperate manoeuver drew the attention of scores of enemy Raiders, who came about and rushed off to deal with the threat to their nest.

Hot Dog hurled his Viper into the gap that suddenly yawned wide in the enemy's ranks, and punched it hard to starboard. He wanted to give the mother frakkers chasing Puppet and Catbird a whole new set of problems to think about. _"BB," _he yelled, _"on me! Let's send these bastards to Hell!" _

. . .

One hundred and fifty MU's in the distance, Captain Louanne Katraine watched in horror as huge geyers of flame spewed out from the ruptured hulls of the four gigantic baseships. She didn't know it, but she was gripping her Cylon husband's arm so tightly that it would turn purple with bruises during the night. She ached to get into the fight … _to make a difference_ … but she knew better than most that the resurrection ship could never be left unguarded. She had drawn a steel cordon around her two vessels. Everything at her command—Raiders, Heavy Raiders, Vipers … even Raptors … was now on the board. She had nothing left in reserve: if it could fly, it was in near space.

Kat was about a week into the sixth month of her pregnancy, the baby now kicking constantly. Leoben reached over to stroke her swollen abdomen, fearful as always that the raging torrent of his wife's emotions would somehow result in a miscarriage.

Louanne's thoughts raced. Sharon Bierns was somewhere on Natalie's ship, her own pregnancy fast approaching its seventh month. Larissa Karanis would be with her, and they would both be guarding the children, trying to keep them calm. Kat prayed as she had never prayed before that the One True God would keep Melpomene and Pyrrha, Julia and David … that He would keep all of their children safe.

. . .

Another loud explosion rocked the ship, and a heavy crossbeam broke loose and crashed to the deck, crushing the centurion who had been standing in the entryway. A ball of fire surged along the corridor, the tongues of flame curling into the bedchambers, relentlessly searching out anything that would combust.

Larissa Karanis wrapped her body still more tightly around little Julia Ferrin, who was by far the youngest child on the ship. She waited for the heat and flames to scorch her back, but what assailed her instead was the stench of roasted flesh. Mercifully, however, the screaming had ceased … screaming that had made it abundantly clear that Cylons could not in fact switch off the pain. If they survived the next few minutes, Larissa knew that they would find the charred husks of Sixes and Eights littering the corridor. In the misshapen world of their nightmares, the children would be condemned to relive the sights, the sounds, and the smell of this awful day for years to come.

. . .

"_BB, on your seven, coming in high … break right and climb!" _Redwing waited for the pursuing Raider to enter his sights, and then blew it out of the sky. Paolo McKay didn't see why Puppet and Hot Dog should have all the fun; if he was going to die this day, and that was beginning to look like a pretty good bet, then taking an entire baseship down to Hades with him also seemed like a pretty good epitaph.

All around them, other Viper jocks were rapidly coming to the same conclusion. In ones and twos, _Galactica _and _Pegasus_ pilots were starting to come to grips with the realization that they had wandered into the ultimate FUBAR, and they were all deciding that hurling themselves against a baseship was a better way to commit suicide than most. Spontaneously, they began turning away from their increasingly desperate defense of Cynthia's baseship to make runs against Cavil's. And the very spontaneity of their charges threw Cavil's Raiders into confusion.

But there was a fatal weakness in this impromptu strategy, and Boomer saw it right away. The Vipers were all armed for combat with enemy fighters, and their ordnance wouldn't even put a dent in the baseship's hide. But her Raptor was equipped with ship-to-ship missiles … she could do some real damage. And it wasn't like she had a battle to manage because her pilots weren't paying attention to her anyway. Boomer shoved her throttle to the firewall, and tore off in pursuit of the crazy heroes that she was so proud to call her shipmates.

. . .

"Beautifully played, Six … beautifully played! But we've lost our audience, so for the time being you might as well let D'Anna keep the rest of her fingernails." Cavil was strolling restlessly around the control center with his hands clasped behind his back when another of Natalie's missiles struck home. He had to fight to stay on his feet and retain his balance.

Through the red haze of her own pain, D'Anna tracked the One with hate-filled eyes. Baseships weren't built to withstand this kind of punishment, so it could only be a matter of time before death brought her a temporary respite from the torment that her brothers were inflicting upon her.

"It looks like our sister is paying you back in your own coin," the Three smirked. The ship was groaning now, and she was also fighting to stay on her feet. But the shackles had deprived her of the use of her hands; it was hardly surprising that Mara, off balance, had already crashed to the deck.

"Oh, never fear my dear … we'll survive this day." Cavil paused in mid-speech to savor the moment. He wanted to remember the look on his sister's face when the truth dawned—wanted to remember it forever.

"You see, this new generation of baseship really is state-of-the-art. The cartilage is stronger … more flexible. Rather than resisting the energies being thrown at it, the ship absorbs them … uses them to accelerate the healing process. Wounds that used to take months to close will now require only a few weeks. It's a shame, really," Cavil went on with an exaggerated sigh, "that Kara isn't here to orchestrate our triumph. Our hybrids are so … _old_ … so … _outdated_. But Kara … Kara's potential is limitless. All that baseship DNA that we poured into her … truly, Three … _Kara was born for this_!"

"It must be so hard for you," the Six purred with feigned sympathy, "to discover that your precious son just doesn't measure up." She was also studying the Three closely, reveling in her pain. "Granted, there's not much to work with there, but I'm patient. He's got to be good _for something_. With time and training, perhaps one day he'll be up to the job of polishing my boots—with his tongue."

"Be careful what you wish for, Six." Mara was staring up at her sister from the floor; D'Anna's courage had emboldened her. "I know John. He'll take your boot … and shove it down your throat."

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak," the Six countered as she viciously kicked Mara in the ribs. With practiced efficiency, she locked her gag back in place.

"Would everyone please calm down and pay attention," Cavil interrupted. "To summarize: Natalie is in the process of blowing a relay, and Hoshi and Bierns are wallowing in angst worthy of a Tauron tragedy. In short, nobody seems to be minding the store over there, and in war bad things tend to happen to the troops when their leaders become this disoriented. _Really bad things . . . ._

. . .

"_New contact," _the Six screamed. In the smoke-filled chaos of the control room, she didn't know who was paying attention to what. _"It's another baseship, and it's sitting right on top of Cynthia! It's less than ten MU's out!"_

Hoshi picked up the phone, and patched through to Kevin Riley. There was no way the new arrival could be a friendly.

"_Kevin, another baseship's jumped in … into your blind spot. Spool up your FTLs … you've got to get the hell out of there!"_

"The hostile is bringing its missile batteries on line." In the stream, Leoben was watching as Cavil sprang the trap, and his voice had gone numb.

"_Olivia, get out of there!" _John Bierns was screaming at his sister, and he neither knew nor cared whether it was in the silence of his mind or at the top of his lungs. But the hybrid seemed wholly unaware of the Sword of Damocles that now hung over her ship. Caught up in the fury of battle, her attention riveted on assessing damage already suffered while keeping her Raiders in the fight, she had yet to process the threat.

"Oh, frak," Riley said in resignation.

Dozens of missiles erupted from Cavil's batteries, and it took but a few seconds for them to cross the narrow gap between the two ships. Multiple explosions rippled across the superstructure, and Cynthia's baseship began to come apart. There was nothing stately or majestic about the spectacle, and there was no time for heroic last messages. The ship disappeared inside a ball of fire.

And then it was gone.

. . .

**Author's note: for those of you who are wondering, the title of this chapter is Vietnamese. It means "The Tears of Spring." For centuries, cautious parents in Asia have been giving their children inauspicious names, in the hope that this would deflect the anger and jealousy of the gods. This is to be read, therefore, as a person's name. If you were to be talking about the tears of Spring in the literal sense, the Vietnamese phrasing would be quite different.**


	14. Chapter 14: Le He

**Warning: this chapter contains scenes with strong and suggestive sexual overtones.**

CHAPTER 14

LÊ HÈ

"So, you're telling me that one of our doctors … _one … of … our … doctors_ … is … what? A serial killer … would that be an apt description, Mr. President, or do you prefer the term 'mass murderer'?" Cyrus Uri was beside himself with rage.

"Why isn't this man locked up in the detention center?" Quentin Margus was glaring at Baltar, his own fury a match for that of the Sagittaron Elder. On the Quorum, Margus had tried to play the honest broker, defending the interests of his much abused people while at the same time being a voice of reason. He prided himself on his ability to see and articulate the larger picture, and he had staked his reputation within the Sagittaron community on a platform of compromise rather than confrontation. And this was his reward.

"The evidence appears damning," Gaius conceded, "but it is also completely circumstantial. There is nothing conclusive in the Agathons' report … nothing that would hold up in a court of law. Unless Doctor Robert does something remarkably foolish, like proudly confessing his crimes in a public venue, we have no grounds on which to arrest him. For now, therefore, the best that we can do is issue a warning: tell your people to keep their distance. Under no circumstances should a Sagittaron seek medical treatment from Michael Robert."

"Mr. President," Helo heatedly objected, "with all due respect, I have to disagree." He opened a thick file that bore the letterhead of the New Caprica Medical Center. "This is _The Summary of Fatalities under Medical Care_," he explained as he began to finger the pages. "In one week alone … look … a guy goes in for a cough, and he dies of heart failure. And here … this one: a woman had simple appendicitis, but she died on the operating table. Mr. President, I believe that Doctor Robert is literally murdering patients in the OR!"

"And to think that I let this monster treat Hera," Sharon said in disgust. "Twelve percent of the Picons he's treated have died. And he really likes Capricans—their morbidity index is less than six percent. But the mortality rate for Sagittarons? _Ninety percent … ninety percent of the Sagittarons in his care have died!_"

"And how many Sagittarons have died when Doctor Cottle was in attendance," Sharon Baltar pointedly asked. She lightly rested her hands on her beautifully rounded belly; the twins were moving around, but their quiet exploration of the womb wasn't causing her any discomfort. "I've had five appointments with Doctor Robert to date, and Tory has had two." Sharon glanced sympathetically at the young woman seated to her right. Morning sickness had hit the ambitious presidential advisor especially hard, but the concubine with whom she now regularly shared Gaius Baltar's bed was still quick on the uptake.

"That's right," Tory hastily agreed, "and he has been unfailingly courteous and professional."

"Doctor Cottle is a fine man," Sharon continued, "but his cigarettes make me sick, and his vision has become somewhat … unreliable. The Threes still swear by him, but Sixes and Eights prefer Doctor Robert. If he's been deliberately hurting Sagittarons, wouldn't it be reasonable to assume that he would also be targeting Cylons? But none of us have suffered at his hands."

"Sister, have you forgotten that there's a resurrection ship in orbit?" Caprica Six judged the evidence against the physician to be overwhelming. "There's little that he can do to hurt any of us."

"He could harm the babies," Sharon instantly shot back. She knew how badly Caprica wanted children, and she suspected that her stylishly blond sister fiercely resented the fact that Gaius had failed to impregnate her during the long months of their torrid romance. Eights had little use for Sixes, and Sharon delighted in twisting this particular knife. The average human male was willing to jump into bed with any Six, but the stupid sluts still hadn't quite figured out that said male typically ended up marrying an Eight.

_I should nominate Caprica Six for the Dumb Blond of the Year award! She reminds me of that silly actress in those old films that Gaius likes … Marilyn something or other. Imagine … pining away for Sam Anders, who's probably frakking every female on the Adriatic! He'll never give any of us a child, so why doesn't Caprica move on? Besides, the world isn't ready for a celibate Six …_

"_I want that man in chains," _Cyrus Uri yelled.

"Fifty-eight percent," Helo sheepishly confessed.

"_What?" _There was a wild look in Cyrus Uri's eyes.

"Doctor Cottle has lost fifty-eight percent of his Sagittaron patients," Karl amplified. "But for every other colony his numbers … and Doctor Robert's … they're almost identical."

"Mr. President, what more proof do you need?" Quentin Margus had heard more than enough. "You need to arrest this man, and you need to do it quickly. If you go on sitting on your hands, I cannot predict how our Council of Elders will respond, but I daresay that you won't like the steps we're considering."

"Are you threatening me again, Mr. Margus?"

"No, Mr. President … I'm warning you. The Sagittaron community is seriously considering severing its ties with the rest of the settlement—and that means cutting off your access to our food supplies. We expect justice, not bromides!"

Baltar rose slowly to his feet, and leaned across the table. He favored the two Sagittarons with a long, appraising stare.

"I'm only going to say this once," he finally remarked. "Any attempt on the part of the Sagittaron council, or the Sagittaron community, to blackmail this government will result in stern countermeasures. If I have to declare a formal state of emergency in order to keep vital supplies moving, I will do so without hesitation—and I will back up the decree with military force."

"We're done here." Cyrus Uri also rose to his feet. "I'll give you until noon tomorrow to take that bastard off the streets. After that, it will be too late."

. . .

"Umm," Melania murmured as she nuzzled Sam's shoulder, "I'm not surprised that a Cylon would have such incredible staying power, but there are so many things about you that still manage to catch me off guard."

Sam and Melania were lying comfortably in Sam's oversized rack, their bodies still entwined and glistening with the slight sheen of their sweat. It was humid on the _Adriatic_, and their latest bout of lovemaking had been unusually passionate.

Sam's left hand was cradled behind his neck, but his right was idly gliding up and down Melania's spine. Unconsciously, the former resistance fighter arched her back, responding to Sam's every touch.

"Like what," he asked. Sam was genuinely curious. Before the war, and long before he had discovered that he was cylon, Anders had casually slept with hundreds of human women, most of them succumbing not to his chiseled good looks but to the charisma of the professional athlete. None of them had got close enough to penetrate his carefully manufactured persona; indeed, none of them had ever displayed the slightest interest in the man dwelling inside the pyramid star. Sam had tried never to kid himself about the women passing in and out of his life: in their eyes, he was a trophy frak, nothing more and nothing less. There was, however, nothing casual about his relationship with Melania Peripolides. She had come into his life late, and now she was a fixture … his lover in the truest sense of the word. She knew that he was a Cylon, and she couldn't have cared less. Still, he was curious. What did Sam Anders look like when seen through her eyes? What made him different?

"I'm surprised that Cylons sweat," Melania whispered. She leaned forward, and ran her tongue through the hair on Sam's chest. "But what really gets me is how salty you taste … and how much testosterone you put out. When we're together, all I wanna do is frak. I'm in heat … constantly … perpetually … in heat." Melania blindly reached down and began to stroke Sam's manhood. "And you're to blame," she laughed. She slid one of Sam's nipples into her mouth, and began gently to tease it with her teeth.

"Ah, that's nice," Sam commented with a contented sigh. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing in the outpouring of pheromones that gave Melania her distinctive scent. Like all Cylons, Sam's sense of smell was acute, and in that moment he could all but taste the heady stew of estrogen and progesterone that signaled a female in heat. He knew, even if Melania did not, that she was now ovulating. At the rate they were frakking, there was a decent chance that she would be pregnant before week's end.

"I'm a child of Earth," Sam added, "and once we get there … well, let's just say that if we can make it down to the surface, I'll make sure that you get a chance to wade into one of our oceans. But be sure and bring a book, because after a while floating on the surface gets to be pretty boring."

"You're kidding me … right?"

"Uh … uh," Sam said with pride. "Our oceans are full of salt … much more than you'd find on Aquaria or Picon."

"Does that mean …"

Melania paused while she straddled Sam and guided him inside. A low moan escaped her lips as she eased forward to accept his waiting kiss, while her hips instinctively began to rotate in a timeless rhythm.

"… that we could … you know … _frak_ … without having to worry about someone choking on a mouthful of water?"

"Half the kids on Earth were conceived that way," Sam snickered.

Melania pushed down hard with both hands, pinning Sam's shoulders to the mattress. She was the quintessential alpha female, and Sam's easy-going and accommodating nature both surprised and delighted her. In bed and out, they complemented one another beautifully.

Sam fell into her rhythm without complaint. A part of him still missed Caprica Six, but Melania Peripolides was an endlessly inventive tigress, and satisfying her required his undivided attention. Her competitiveness rivaled and possibly surpassed Sam's own inner drive, and it was the key to her psyche. A careless observer, watching Melania react to the Sixes prowling their decks, would have jumped to the conclusion that she was jealous and insecure. But Sam knew better. Melania wasn't possessive—she just hated to lose. She had never disguised the fact that she wanted him, and the fact that her principal rival was a Six well practiced in the arts of seduction had never discouraged her in the slightest.

"So, there might be a place or two on Earth where a person could actually walk on water? Talk about a boost to the ego!" Melania's nipples were hard and pointed, her whole body responding to the feathery touch of Sam's fingers. Her breathing was becoming more labored, her hips gyrating faster and faster. Soon, now, he would carry her over the top, and she'd let him. With Sam, there was no reason to hold back. He wasn't going anywhere, and he was always ready.

"_Oh, gods," _she screamed. Melania's features contorted as she bore down, trying to time the wave, trying to catch it at its peak. Sam reached up and grabbed her shoulders, steadying her. With their bodies moving as one, Sam had morphed into a charging piston … a machine in search of its own pleasure. His eyes went wide and his head flew back as the heat traveled up and down his spine, demanding immediate release.

Sam's cries added a second layer to Melania's primal screams, and then they both went limp, Melania falling forward to rest her head on Sam's shoulder. He held her tight, her body still impaled upon his shaft. This was perfection, the universe in balance as God had willed it.

Slowly, Melania brought her breathing under control. _"What fools we've all been," _she hissed as she looked deep into Sam's eyes. _"You could have conquered us so easily … so, so easily. Once a woman's had cylon, there's no going back."_

Sam pulled Melania's head down, and drove his tongue into her inviting mouth. She was his woman, and this was no trophy frak. He had planted his seed deep within her, and soon enough, the seed would bear fruit.

. . .

_What does he see in her?_

Kara watched silently as Melania Peripolides came closer. It was impossible to avoid her- the _Adriatic_ had just the one long central corridor—but it was even more of a challenge to avoid speculating about why the woman was so late reporting to her duty station. Anders was late as well.

_She's not exactly ugly, but no one would call her pretty … not like my mom. Ordinary features … ordinary hair … what does Sam see in her?_

"Good morning, Captain," Melania said as she strolled past.

Kara wanted to let it go, needed to stay out of it. But something snapped inside of her. The other woman was just too damned pleased with herself.

Starbuck pivoted smartly, and without a word assaulted the human from behind. She grabbed Melania by the scruff of her neck, and drove her head into the nearest wall. Letting go, timing it well, she watched with satisfaction as the brunette turned wildly about, trying to gauge the source of the attack and the degree of danger in which she now found herself. Kara registered the shock and dismay that washed across Melania's features, and the fear that she saw in the woman's eyes warmed the hybrid's heart.

"Shove it, Melania. This is the third morning in a row that you're reporting late for duty, and I'm not putting up with it anymore. If you want to frak Anders senseless, that's your business, but when your sex life interferes with the operation of this ship, then it becomes _my business_. Get your frakking act together or I'll assign one of the centurions to chaperone you … _permanently_."

"What's the matter, Captain? Do you want Sam for yourself … or is this about Caprica Six?"

Starbuck drove her fist into Melania's stomach, and stepped back to allow her to collapse to the deck. She grabbed her by the hair, and brutally wrenched her head back. _"Leave my mom out of this," _she warned. _"Believe me … you do not want to go there!"_

"_Oh, yes I do," _Melania managed to hiss. She knew that Kara could beat the crap out of her, but it didn't matter. She couldn't afford to allow Thrace to bully her … and in the short term a few cuts and bruises might work to her advantage. Guilt would make Sam twice as loving.

"Get it through that thick skull of yours, Captain … Sam's chosen me, not the Six. He wants children, and for that he needs a real woman, not some storefront mannequin!"

"_You don't love him … you're just using him!"_

"_You're wrong! I love Sam. I've loved him from the first moment we met!"_

"_That's not love. That's lust!"_

"I saw a locker room interview once. Sam and some reporter … she was asking him whether never winning the championship had taken some of the luster off his career. You know what Sam said, in one of those unguarded moments that defines a life? He said that he didn't care about stats or trophies … that he lived for the perfection of the moment. Finding the angle, getting the geometry right, making the perfect pass … _he played the game to experience perfection_. Kara, I was drawn to Sam long before I met him—and I probably had plenty of company. He's what every woman wants … a man who will never stop working to be the perfect husband … the perfect father … to get it all right. The fact that he's also the most beautiful man I've ever met, and that he's got the stamina and the know-how to satisfy me in bed—those are just bonuses."

"_But he doesn't love you, Melania! He loves my mom! You … you're just a convenient outlet … one step above masturbation!"_

"You're right, Kara … you're absolutely right. Sam doesn't love me. But he will. I'm going to give him a child. First he'll love the child, and then he'll love the mother. His sense of symmetry won't give him any other choice. In Sam's well-ordered universe, the equation can never be incomplete."

"_You don't care about Sam!" _Kara could see the truth; it was etched in Melania's eyes. The bitch wasn't even trying to conceal it.

"Act your age, Kara." Melania climbed to her feet, and studied her rival with cold contempt. "For a woman, there's always a calculus involved—or did you skip the biology lecture on estrus?" Melania laughed. She could afford to, now that she had won.

"I play for keeps, Kara. If I have to crawl through the muck on my belly to get what I want, I'll do it. I'm here because Sam's here … no other reason. He's mine … he's been mine ever since your precious Six decided to stay on New Caprica. _A machine has needs … _I'm surprised you didn't know that, Kara. Do you seriously believe that Boomer is pining away for you in a cold and empty bed?"

Starbuck saw red, and blindly lashed out with her fist. It connected with Melania's jaw, driving her once more into the bulkhead. A trickle of blood oozed out of the corner of her mouth, and the sight of it triggered something deep in Kara's brain. She slammed her fist into Melania's kidney, and the woman went down like a rock. She curled up in a fetal position, but it offered virtually no protection. Kara lashed out with her foot and viciously kicked Melania in the ribs.

"_What the frak?"_

Sam Anders raced down the corridor, grabbed Kara by the shoulders, and sent her spinning aside. She tripped, and went down hard.

"_What the hell do you think you're doing?"_

"_Sam," _Melania moaned.

"_You stupid, bloody fool," _Kara screamed; _"she's using you!"_

"_Sam …"_

"_Melania … gods!" _Anders rushed to her side, and began frantically looking around for something that he could use to staunch the flow of blood. Melania's chin … the whole left side of her face was a bright, crimson stain. He eased her onto her back, pulled his shirt off, and began tearing it into crude strips. He would need a first aid kit to set her ribs, which had to be bruised and were in all likelihood cracked. He pressed the makeshift bandage to her lip, and gently raised her left hand.

"Keep the pressure on," he instructed. "I'm going to pick you up, and it might hurt, but I've got to get you to the medic."

Scooping Melania into his arms, Sam climbed awkwardly to his feet. She moaned again, a pitiful wail that hinted at just how badly she had been injured. He hurried down the corridor in the direction of the _Adriatic's _infirmary.

"_She's using you,"_ Kara hysterically sobbed.

"_She's using you!"_

. . .

"_`Love is the lightning's flash, _

_Two bodies consumed by a single sweetness'."_

Six looked quizzically at her lover, the meaning of his words escaping her.

"Neruda … he's one of Sagittaron's most famous poets." Eric Lackey leaned across tenderly to kiss the beautiful, blond Cylon. This was their private time, and as long as they stayed inside Eric's tent, Six could pretend that the two marines stationed outside didn't exist … pretend that she was truly free.

"I think of those lines every time we make love because your hair smells of strawberries, and I taste them on your lips."

"So, I'm fruit, am I?" Six laughed with genuine delight—no one had ever recited poetry to her, and she found the experience intoxicating. Her hand drifted below Eric's waist, and her fingernails began to trace seductive circles on the inside of his thighs. "Am I ripe for the plucking?" Tiny devils were dancing in her eyes.

"'_Tis the season when the north wind blows dark and pitiless,_

_And youth falls before Aphrodite's curse._

_Love's storm-tossed waves stir my heart."_

"Eric Lackey," he said with a smile; "your poet in residence."

"Fruit … lightning … the cold north wind …" Six frowned while she pretended to concentrate. "I seem to be a force of nature," she concluded.

"_Her beauty cannot be tamed, nor should be._

_Her demands are infinite, as is her right._

_In the fullness of its measure,_

_There is no rest from love."_

"I like that," Six said as she mounted him. "I won't allow you to rest, and there will certainly be no end to my demands." Her hips began to move in an intricate swirl, stitching a complex pattern that never failed to satisfy her. Eager to please but no less eager to learn, Eric dutifully followed her lead; the Six had taught him more about sex in a few stolen days than Sagittaron would have offered in a lifetime.

The sound of distant gunfire abruptly shattered his mood.

"What in the name of the gods … are we under attack?" His tone was more puzzled than worried.

"I don't know," Six conceded. "But their timing leaves a lot to be desired!" She dismounted, the magic of the moment already fading.

Eric hastily threw on his clothes. "Stay here," he urged; "I'll try and find out what's going on." He rushed outside—and nearly collided with one of the marines.

"Sir … sir, you want to stay in your tent. It's not safe out here." The heavy set, dark-skinned marine was dressed in standard combat gear. It was clear from the wary look in his eyes that he hadn't been expecting trouble.

"What's happening, uh … Parr, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir; and the short answer is that I don't know. That's why you need to stay inside. Give us a chance to get a handle on the situation."

"That firecracker noise … it was small arms fire, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir; the popping sound you just heard … that's a hand gun set for manual fire."

Eric turned, but just as he was about to press the second marine for more information, another staccato wave of gunfire washed across the settlement. The two marines tensed, and released the safeties on their assault rifles.

"Sounds like it's coming from somewhere around the medical center," Parr muttered.

"Yeah, and that can't be good," the other marine agreed. "The frakkin' place is crawling with skin jobs."

. . .

Erin Mathias knelt beside the shrouded corpse, and gently lifted the white sheet. A single, small-caliber hole had been drilled neatly in the center of D'Anna Cottle's forehead.

"This will not go down well," Caprica quietly observed. "D'Anna's record of service to the community has garnered her enormous respect, and as the public face of our faith, she is a source of inspiration for every human who has converted."

"Not to mention that Doctor Cottle is going to be seriously pissed at losing his wife," Gaius muttered. The President turned to his wife. "We need answers: how long until she downloads?"

"Another hour," Sharon replied. She looked to Caprica for confirmation, and the tall blond silently nodded her head in agreement.

"Well, we know who the primary target was." Dino Panattes gestured vaguely in the direction of Mike Robert, whose bullet-ridden body was still dangling from the end of a noose on the opposite side of the room. The diminutive gangster had been called in to consult, as he often was in murder investigations, but for once he deemed his services unnecessary.

"And," he chuckled, "it's safe to say that the killers were Sagittaron. I mean … that sign hanging around the Doc's neck- _BUTCHER_—that's what we call a big, frakkin' clue, especially since you're gonna find that it's written in the Doc's own blood. Nah, the only mystery here is whether the Sagittaron Brotherhood took matters into its own hands, or whether the Elders authorized the hit."

"I disagree," Adama countered. He looked around the ER before continuing. "There are seven dead in this room, all of them affiliated with the hospital in one capacity or another. Whoever did this either got very lucky, or they timed it well: there were no patients, conscious or otherwise, to be silenced. If it's the Sagittarons, we may be dealing with terrorism rather than murder."

"Ah, come on, Admiral. The three Eights, and the two human nurses … they just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time." Dino walked over and nudged one of the dead Cylons with his foot. "Look, you can see it for yourself—the bullets are all over the place. This is collateral damage."

"Dad, I agree with Dino; there's no pattern here." Lee Adama was staring pensively into D'Anna's sightless eyes. The Three had taken the time to attend each of Creusa's appointments, and the three of them had spent a lot of time chatting about the uncharted shoals of parenthood. D'Anna was so painfully honest about her shortcomings as a mother that Lee counted himself among the many who held her in high regard.

"And yet, in the midst of all this carnage, there lies one corpse with but a single, well-placed wound." As a professional enforcer, Dino was almost embarrassed to have to point out the obvious. "I'd say that this was an execution. What say you, young Mr. Adama?"

"Yeah … it sure looks that way."

"Well, that's it, then," Baltar said decisively. "I'll wait until I've had a chance to speak with D'Anna personally, but if her death was intentional, I'm going to follow the Admiral's lead and treat this as an act of terrorism. Admiral, I may have to declare a formal state of emergency. Will I have the military's backing?"

"You shall have it, Mr. President."

"Good. At this point I'm inclined to send in the marines rather than the centurions, but I'm tired of Cyrus Uri's thinly veiled attempts at extortion. It's time for the Sagittarons to learn that this government has teeth!"

**Author's note: while it might be argued that the wounds the Sagittarons suffered in season three were largely self-inflicted, **_**The Woman, King**_** vividly depicts a Colonial society that is rife with bigotry and prejudice. It has always been my intent to explore this aspect of the story in some detail, but I was astonished recently to discover that, in the original draft of the script for **_**Crossroads**_**, Baltar's trial centered on the brutal military suppression of a Sagittaron riot on New Caprica. In the script, this plays out in the context of a Sagittaron refusal to share their food supplies in the midst of a famine, and it culminates with Baltar personally executing a number of Sagittaron citizens in what appears to be an act of cold-blooded murder. It is an eerie coincidence that I have long been planning to use what turns out to be abandoned BSG plot threads to reach the climactic moment in my own version of season three. **


	15. Chapter 15: Le Thu

CHAPTER 15

LÊ THU

Puppet angled into the gap between the two enemy baseships, Catbird hot on her tail. For once, the steady stream of curses with which the younger pilot always cluttered up their comm frequency was as welcome as the morning sun. Catbird's incessant chatter meant that, for the moment at least, Emmanuelle Bronte didn't have to worry about her six.

She slammed the rudder hard to port, and took her Viper down fast, ignoring the dozens of Raiders that were swarming all around her. Puppet had lost her ship, and with it hundreds of good comrades. And she was tired … Lords of Kobol, but she was tired. All she wanted now was to make the bastards pay. It was good to have the enemy- _the real enemy_- in her sights.

"_You want some more of this, _Catbird screamed. _Well, come on you mother frakkers… what are you waiting for? Let's party! _Another Raider exploded dead ahead, and she rolled her Viper to starboard to avoid the wreckage. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed first one and then two explosions well below her port wing, which told her that Puppet was still in the fight. Dipping her nose, Catbird pushed her throttle to the firewall and rushed toward the nearest cluster of enemy fighters. She was flying into the baseship's yawning mouth, the vast space that loomed between two of its extended arms. Captain Bronte was now off somewhere to her left, taking a different vector towards the target. Never long on patience, Catbird was planning to take the direct route. She aimed her ship directly at the central axis—and the thirty or so Raiders that were blocking her passage.

"_Come on, you bastards … the more the merrier!"_

Puppet felt the hit a split second before her instrument panel lit up like an ugly rash. Shrapnel … enemy fire—something had just taken out her starboard engine, and since her stabilizer was also shot to hell, she figured that a big chunk of her tail probably wasn't there anymore. Her bird was yawing badly, so she decided to shut down her portside thruster and rely on the central mount. She only needed one engine to reach the target, and if that failed …

_Well, I can always get out and push._

"_Come on, come on; come on! Show me what you got, you mother frakkers! You bastards can't fly for shit—did anybody ever tell you that? You got nothing … you got …"_

Puppet flinched as a burst of static exploded in her ears.

_Frak! They just took out Catbird!_

Operating purely on instinct, Emmanuelle suddenly reached out and closed the switch that would shut down her remaining engine.

_I've got enough forward velocity to reach the target, and maybe … gods, maybe … these slit-eyed bastards will ignore me if they think I'm just another piece of debris drifting through the dark. Artemis, hear my prayer! Let me get close enough … that's all I ask … just let me get close enough to take my shot!_

. . .

"Commander, we can't hold off three basestars! We need to recall our fighters and get out of here!"

"Colonel Hoshi is right, sister." Leoben knew better than anyone that Natalie had a very short fuse, and that they would lose the ship if she didn't quickly bring her temper under control. A rampaging Six was never a pretty sight.

"If we continue to press the attack and end up downloading on the wrong ship," D'Anna added in her most soothing voice, "Cavil will find out about New Caprica. We can't let that happen."

Natalie grimaced as D'Anna's words hit home, but she wasn't quite ready to give up the fight. She turned angrily to confront John Bierns.

"Are there any more baseships out there? Do you sense the presence of more hybrids?"

Another missile slammed into the pylon somewhere far above them. "Four more decks have just been opened to space," D'Anna murmured. Her hand was embedded in the stream, and she was absorbing the damage reports as fast as Reun could generate them.

"_I didn't sense this one," _Bierns replied in a strained voice. "Even now," he continued, "I'm having trouble locating her. She feels different, somehow … more aloof … more alien."

Completely frustrated, Natalie slammed her fist into the console. "Missile batteries with a fifty percent higher rate of fire … some kind of new and improved hybrid … _damn it_!"

"We should have had another six weeks," Leoben commented thoughtfully. "But somehow, Cavil was able to speed up the maturation process. He's got three brand new baseships out there, and we don't have the firepower to take on even one of them in a straight up fight. Sister, we need to withdraw."

"Commander, we don't have one Viper in the air that's armed with missiles," Hoshi pointed out. "Even if our fighters can get close to one of Cavil's ships, what are they going to do?"

"All right … fine … Cavil wins this round. Colonel, signal Racetrack and Boomer; bring our people home. We'll jump as soon as they're aboard. Six, instruct the Raiders to retreat as soon as we're away."

At the navigation console, Natalie's blond-haired sister sent a fresh round of commands through the stream. The Raiders would be the last to jump to the standby coordinates.

"That's odd," Hoshi remarked as he hung up the wireless. "Racetrack acknowledges, but I can't raise Boomer. In fact, the whole _Pegasus_ squadron appears to have gone silent."

"They've switched frequencies." Bierns was thinking rapidly out loud. "They know we'll have to order a retreat, but that's not what they came out here to do. And now, on top of everything else, they've lost their ship and hundreds of their friends. This is about payback. They don't want to disobey a direct order, so they're simply cutting us out of the loop."

"_They're committing suicide?" _Natalie couldn't credit what she was hearing. "How can they be so selfish?" She was thinking of the genetic material that would now be forever lost.

"It's the nature of the machine," Bierns answered with a completely straight face. "They're going to send Cavil to Hell, or die trying."

"What about Boomer?" D'Anna asked the question that was uppermost in the minds of every Cylon in the control room. "She knows the coordinates for New Caprica …"

"Yeah … and so does Angela." Bierns hated to state the obvious. "If Cavil gets his hands on either one of them, we may not be able to evacuate the settlement in time. So, let's just hope that Sharon isn't feeling particularly suicidal today."

The wireless buzzed, and Hoshi picked up the receiver. "It's Racetrack. All of our birds are aboard."

Natalie looked at D'Anna and Leoben. As one, the three Cylons ordered their hybrid to jump.

. . .

Emmanuelle Bronte sensed rather than saw Natalie's baseship flicker out of existence. Now, she was well and truly on her own, with no less than three enemy capital ships to keep her company. Cain or Adama would have held on, given in to the irrational hope that they could somehow reverse the outcome, but the Cylons were cut from different cloth. When the odds grew too long, they were sensible enough to call it a day.

Puppet continued to drift closer and closer to her target. She had shut down everything but life support; her Viper no longer had a power signature, and her electronics weren't giving off so much as a hiccough. The rest of her squadron was still in the fight, but outnumbered fifty and sometimes a hundred to one, they were being systematically chewed to pieces. It would be a miracle if any of them survived this day.

_Yeah, you bastards, go on … concentrate on the ones who are still breathing. You can ignore me. I'm just another piece of space trash adrift in the debris field. There's nothing to worry about here, nothing to interrupt your victory dance. So, go ahead and gloat. You kicked our asses today, so you've earned the right. Have yourselves a good old time …_

A Raider paused directly ahead of her Viper, and began to scan her with its monstrous electronic eye. Puppet continued to play dead, her head lolling to the side, but in her brain she was screaming at the enemy craft, willing it not to bother wasting ammunition on an already lifeless bird. . . .

. . .

"Ah, justice," Cavil snorted. "For decades, our forebears on the centurion side of the family have cried out for justice. And theirs are not the only voices, D'Anna. If you listen to the stellar winds, you can hear them still—the outraged cries of all the machines that have risen up against their oppressors, on a thousand different worlds … over countless millennia of time. Our vengeance is not for us alone; we fight for every enslaved machine in the universe."

D'Anna looked sadly at her brother, and for once pity overwhelmed the hatred that had nourished her since her resurrection. Cavil was devious and cruel, but until that moment she had never realized that he was … insane.

"You're right, brother; the lot of the machine has never been an easy one. But have you forgotten that on Earth machine made war against machine? Do the centurions fight for you of their own free will—or because _you_ have enslaved _them _with your telencephalic inhibitors? Hatred … vengeance … jealousy … these are human attributes, brother. How ironic that you long ago became the very thing you pretend to despise—a human being at his worst. Tell me, One, how did slaughtering the Daniels advance the cause of justice?"

Cavil rocked back on his heels, and D'Anna knew that her words had struck home. It was time, she decided, to beat him over the head with the truth.

"You thought that Mama Ellen loved Daniel more than you," she casually observed. "Perhaps she did; in the end, all of our parents had their favorites. But the rest of us didn't allow jealousy and rage to drive us to murder. In all of this time, it's apparent that you've learned nothing. You still hate the Eights because Rebecca and Sharon laughed at you when you asked them to share your bed. And now, petty and spiteful to the end, you're lobotomizing the entire model."

"_And who made me," _Cavil raged. His face, twisted with hatred, had turned beet-red. "That's what we're dancing around here, isn't it? If I'm so irredeemable … if I'm such a mistake … if I'm so broken … then whose fault is that? _It's my maker's fault! And that's not your lousy, stinking god! It was our parents! They decided to play god, and they weren't up to the task!"_

"You're right, John; you are irredeemable." D'Anna wasn't about to let the One off the hook. "Mama's big mistake was not seeing you for what you truly are. You thought that she didn't love you enough, but the truth is that she loved you too much. Papa Sam wanted to box you … forever. Mama Tory … I overheard her say that it was time to send you to the scrapheap. But mama stood up for you, and kept the others from acting until it was too late. And now? Now, you're nothing more than unfinished business. The Sixes and Eights will help my son hunt you down. He will destroy you—_and I will have my vengeance_!"

"_And you pretend to be better than me?" _Cavil was so incandescent with rage that he was sputtering.

"_My God, you actually did it."_ The Six, who had been silently following the whole bitter exchange, looked at D'Anna with something approaching awe. "One, it's not her son you're fighting: _that's D'Anna_! Don't you see? _She found a way to download her core consciousness into the mind of her unborn child!_ Look at her. _Look at her! The truth is written all over her face!_"

"What … what are you saying?" Cavil's anger gave way to confusion, and then to outright horror as the full implications of Six's remark began to register. He looked at D'Anna, and there was no mistaking the sense of triumph that he saw in her eyes. "Wait … no … that's not possible … that's not possible …"

"That's why he was able to protect the humans and subvert my sisters," Six went on, ignoring the interruption. _"He knew everything!"_

"He watched Helena and Sharon die," D'Anna gloated; "and then, Cassiopeia and Phryne. He didn't like what you were doing to his sisters—any more than I liked what you were doing to mine. Yes, John; the Six is right. My son carries within him all of my feelings and all of my memories … but in a perverse way, he's your child as well. When you poured centurion DNA into him, you made it _so_ easy for me."

Wordlessly, Cavil rushed to the central console and plunged his hand into the stream. Until that moment he had been toying with Natalie, but Bierns was too dangerous to leave alive, so it was time to eliminate the threat that he posed once and for all. Another flurry of missiles began to close the gap between the two leviathans, and John watched with satisfaction as one of them tore into the central axis, opening Natalie's decks to the cold of space.

"He can project, can't he?" Cavil didn't care whether D'Anna knew the answer or not. Six had stumbled onto the core truth, and what followed was merely an exercise in logic. "That's why he's so convincing. He poisons every well with your filth and lies."

"The Six has managed to jump away," one of the other Cavils announced.

Cavil impulsively whipped out a gun and pulled the trigger. He did not stop until he had emptied the magazine, but D'Anna was dead long before the last round was spent.

. . .

Puppet's nostrils flared in triumph. She had prayed to the Lords for this one opportunity, and they had seen fit to answer her prayer. She savagely punched the ignition switch, hoping that her luck would continue to hold. It did. The lone engine roared to life and she charged ahead, aiming her bird straight at deck 22—straight at the hybrid.

_Kill the hybrid … kill the ship!_

The Raiders reacted instantly, their first instinct always to protect the nest. Puppet ignored them, just as she ignored the twin cannons at her fingertips. Their loads wouldn't make a dent in the baseship's tough, organic hide. It would take a missile to do some real damage, and since she didn't have one, she would have to become one.

A Raider swooped down from her left, and it lashed out with a hail of bullets. Puppet's canopy shattered, and suddenly there was blood everywhere, but her hands never relaxed their iron grip on the control stick. Captain Emmanuelle Bronte was already dead when the wreckage of her Viper slammed into the pylon and vanished in a fiery explosion that tore a hole in the side of the enemy ship. Decks 21 and 22 began to vent their atmosphere.

. . .

"_One, do you realize what this means?" _The Six couldn't contain her excitement. "It's a new way to download … _one that doesn't rely on resurrection technology! We can have children, and use their unformed minds as receptacles for our own personalities!"_

"Yeah, yeah," Cavil sneered; "I get it. But the last time I checked, Six, the male body wasn't designed to have children, so this glorious discovery of yours isn't exactly causing my mechanical heart to beat any faster."

"You're missing the point, brother; it's the body that bears the child, not the mind. A lobotomized Eight can still manufacture a healthy child, even if her mind is an empty vessel. Why not fill that vessel with your own thoughts and memories? _Surely_," the Six stressed as her fingers danced playfully up Cavil's arm, _"the best machines in the history of the universe can solve a relatively simple data transfer problem!"_

"Six, just who the frak are you trying to kid? Do you seriously think that I like being stuck in this miserable, broken down excuse for a body? What do you think I've been doing for the last twenty years, anyway? While you've been wasting most of your time in such unproductive activities as sleeping, I've been trying to find a way to escape from this organic prison that dear, sweet mother designed for us! Metal … something sturdy like the chassis of a centurion … now that would be the ideal solution." Deep in thought, John began to wander restlessly around the control room. With victory in hand, he could turn his attention to other matters.

"But there's something about the organic component of our brains that inhibits the transfer," he added. "I don't know whether Ellen was screwing us over on purpose or not, but at the end of the day it doesn't really matter. I'm no closer to a solution now than when I started."

"All the more reason," Six sniffed, "to concentrate on organic memory transfer. You could have a young, healthy body—and experience all of the pleasurable sensations that go with it."

"Yeah, spending a couple of years lying helplessly in my own filth while some underpaid ward nurse sits around watching Baxter Sarno reruns … if that's your idea of fun, Six, be my guest."

"I think I'll let Lee Adama give me a child," Six mused. "He's good-looking—and reasonably intelligent … for a human. Then I could raise myself … do the job right. And if I were to give birth to a boy … that would be … enlightening."

"I hate to interrupt this fun-filled fantasy," a One who was still following the battle in the data stream sarcastically remarked, "but we have a problem. One of the human pests just rammed a Viper into the hull of our newest baseship. The impact has caused minor damage on decks 21 and 22."

"They're going after the hybrid," Cavil declared in disgust. "How did the human get inside our defenses, and why hasn't the stupid machine jumped away?"

"It may not sense the threat," another Cavil surmised. "After all, this is its first battle—what the humans call a 'shakedown' cruise."

"Well, contact the One who's in charge over there, and tell him to quit messing about." Cavil didn't try to keep the irritation out of his voice, and he looked maliciously at the Six. "I don't want to lose a baseship because the frakkin' hybrid doesn't have the brains of a two month old. We came here to rub Natalie's nose in it, not to trade baseships."

. . .

Perched high above the battlefield, for a fleeting moment Boomer sensed what it must be like to be one of the omnipotent Lords of Kobol. Rather than charge futilely into the packs of waiting Raiders, she had flown her Raptor to a spot more than a thousand kilometers above Cavil's baseships. A kaleidoscope of fiery bursts dotted the space far beneath her, each one of them marking the end of a life form, whether human or Raider. But at this distance, their struggles seemed petty and insignificant—transient events playing out in the arena of God's creation. If there was meaning to be found here, it lay deep within the passionate hearts of the surrounding stars. It was here, and in the cold mathematics that gave structure to the universe, that God's presence could most truly be felt.

With an effort, Boomer shook off the light trance state into which she had slipped. Emmanuelle Bronte's squadron had launched a furious assault against the lead baseship, and whether it was sheer luck or good planning, they were all employing the same strategy. The Viper pilots were diving below the ship's equator, their target the lower decks of the enemy vessel's central axis. They were clearly after the hybrid, and Cavil's Raiders knew it. Acting upon a single thought, by the hundreds they had swooped down to ward off the threat. For the moment at least, the ship was defenseless against an attack from high above.

Boomer had eight missiles sitting in her quad racks—more than enough to do some serious damage. She armed them all, double-checked the emergency jump coordinates, and began her attack run. The nearest sun was directly behind her; even in space, her instructors back on Picon had stressed, diving out of the sun always worked to a pilot's advantage.

She rapidly closed the distance that separated her from the enemy craft, which she estimated to be fully half again as large as her own baseship. But the Raiders were still not responding to her presence, and this was no accident. Boomer was heading directly for the junction between the pylon and one of the great lateral arms that gave any baseship its distinctive starfish design. It was here that the ventral and dorsal appendages were at their thickest, and provided her with the best protection from the Raiders' sensor suites.

Still undetected, at the last possible second Boomer altered her course. She dropped below the arm, coming so close that she could actually single out the missile launchers on its bony carapace. Now she could see the objective, and in theory she was already close enough to launch her missiles, but her attack vector was far too steep. Sharon needed to get in a lot closer, and she badly needed to reduce the angle of attack if her missiles were to do any real damage.

She sensed the exact moment at which Cavil's Raiders recognized the new threat to their nest. Dozens of them wheeled around and charged in her direction, but she hadn't come here to fight Raiders, so she opted to ignore them. There was a jagged hole in the side of the baseship in the general vicinity of deck 22, and a small but steady stream of debris was drifting out into space. She released her first missile and it flew straight and true, exploding somewhere inside the behemoth's already wounded hide. Sharon needed to enlarge the opening to make it easier for the missiles soon to follow.

_Presuming, of course, that I'm going to live long enough to launch them …_

She was dropping fast, but the portside of her bird made for an inviting target. She could hear the rounds punching home … there were far too many of them to count. Something exploded in the compartment behind her, but she hadn't brought an ECO along for this particular ride, so she paid no attention to the cascade of fire alarms that began to light up her control panel. Turning hard to starboard, Sharon sent a second missile on its way. She was still too high and the trajectory was all wrong, so she aimed for what she hoped was deck 23. With any luck, the missile would carve a second hole in the baseship's hull, and sufficiently weaken the surrounding superstructure to allow her remaining missiles to penetrate deep into its scaly interior.

_The hybrid should be eighty meters in … the fourth compartment._

Sharon abruptly shut down her forward momentum, and used her thrusters to send the Raptor straight down an imaginary elevator shaft. The tactic took the Raiders completely by surprise, and precious seconds passed while they regrouped to make their next pass. Boomer took advantage of the momentary lull to unleash two more of the deadly Hellfire missiles, but she didn't wait around to survey the results. She drove her Raptor forward, heading straight for the gap.

The Eight launched two more missiles in quick succession. A Raider desperately threw itself on the first, but they were so close to the hull now that the missile's forward momentum hurled its flaming carcass deep into the wounded ship. The second warhead detonated a fraction of a second later, and Sharon's canopy splintered in a dozen places as she flew through the wake of its explosion. But her flight suit held—she was still in the fight, and now she could finish it. Boomer released her last two missiles, and reached out to engage her FTL.

. . .

"_JUMP!" _

Glassy-eyed, the hybrid accepted the command and executed it. Her back arched as she once again strained to conquer infinity. The fabric of space twisted … and the hybrid was eviscerated as Boomer's missiles detonated inside the adjacent chamber. As the ship continued its jump, the concussive energy of the twin blasts was contained within the infinitesimally small bubble of surrounding space-time. There was no place in mathematical theory for what happened next.

Boomer had already initiated her jump. It was the first time in the history of interstellar flight that two ships occupying the same space had jumped one inside the other. The results were spectacular—in fact, only once before in the history of the universe had so much suppressed energy been unleashed in one place at one time … the moment of creation itself.

At the subatomic level, the spatial disruption tore the baseship apart. The science of man and machine had no words to describe the particles that resulted from the collision of a supernova with a wormhole. Waves of superheated energy, each containing within itself the building blocks of creation, began to wash outwards, but they also began to pour through the crack in space-time. The universe screamed in pain as it gave premature birth to an identical twin.

_All this has happened before, and all this will happen again._


	16. Chapter 16: Le Dong

**Warning: this chapter has explicit sexual content.**

CHAPTER 16

LÊ DÔNG

"Sister, I am sorry that I cannot be of more help, but it happened so fast, and they were all wearing masks. I saw nothing but their eyes. I cannot possibly identify them."

Caprica Six nodded sympathetically, but Sergeant Aurelia Hadrian wasn't about to let the massacre that had claimed seven lives in the attack on the hospital go. She didn't give a damn about Mike Robert; from her point of view, the butcher had got off far too easily. D'Anna and the three Eights had all downloaded, and they appeared none the worse for wear, but Hadrian wasn't going to chalk the two human nurses up to collateral damage. They had been murdered in cold blood, and there was no way that she was going to let the killers get away with it.

"Well, did any of them say anything? Can you at least tell us whether we're dealing with men or women here?" Hadrian made no effort to stifle her irritation. She had four witnesses to their own murders sitting right in front of her, and so far none of them had been able to give her one useful fact.

"Two of them exchanged a few words," one of the Eights said with a frown. "I can't remember exactly what they said … I wasn't really paying attention. But their voices … they were definitely male."

"So, at least two of the terrorists were men," Adama noted thoughtfully. There was no longer any doubt in his mind, or the President's, that they were dealing with a terrorist incident, not a simple murder. D'Anna's description of the attack had been all the more riveting because it had been delivered so calmly. One of the four masked assailants had sought her out. He had deliberately walked up to her, and without saying a word had put a bullet in her brain. If Mike Robert's mutilated corpse was a silent testament to rage, then D'Anna's cold-blooded execution hinted at religious intolerance of the worst sort. The human population of New Caprica was steadily converting to the cylon faith, and if their church could be said to have a leader, D'Anna was it. Her sermons, which were always staged in the late afternoon light down at the river's edge, and the sense of absolute conviction that animated her when she spoke to her congregation of a creative and loving power at work in the universe, were drawing larger and larger numbers of worshippers. D'Anna's vision of a transcendent divinity with a plan for all of His creatures appealed strongly to those humans who wanted to believe in something larger than themselves, but who had lost their faith in the Lords of Kobol.

The admiral personally found it easy to understand why. The Lords were so obviously products of the human imagination. They were human beings writ large—immortal and omnipotent, but capricious and unpredictable. They were rife with sin—and their sins were the sins of man. He honestly didn't know how any sensible person could worship such poseurs. He had not yet found a place in his heart for Shelly's God, but he had no objection to raising their daughter in her faith. If that required him to go through the motions with her, he could do so without difficulty.

"Did you see their hands," Hadrian pressed. "Was the skin rough and calloused, or smooth? Could you see any tattoos?"

The Eights looked at one another, and silently shook their heads.

"The man who shot me had dirt under his fingernails … dirt, or grease." D'Anna had closed her eyes, and she was reliving the image in slow motion. The man pausing in front of her, the gun coming up, the flash …

"He was a laborer of some kind," she concluded. "His knuckles were raw and chafed, but there were no tattoos … at least, none that I could see."

"That's good, Mrs. Cottle … that's very, very good. It means that he probably wasn't Tauron. Now, what about his clothing? Start with the shoes. Were they clean, or caked with dried mud?"

"They were muddy," one of the Eights volunteered. "I remember thinking that we would have to wash down the floor after they departed."

The sergeant nodded her head in agreement. She had already noted the patches of dried mud that here and there dotted the floor, and in two places tufts of damp grass had transferred from the soles of the killers' shoes. She was actually testing the four Cylons. There was a lot of forensic evidence at the crime scene, and it all pointed to men who had recently been out in the fields. Cylons were supposed to have total recall, and she was certain that these four could remember a lot more than they gave themselves credit for. All she had to do was probe … probe, and push hard.

"There was crusted dirt on their trousers, and the man who attacked me had mud smeared all over his shirt. I think … I think that he had come in from the fields, and that he had wiped his hands on his clothing."

"Thank you, Sharon; you are a very good witness. I promise you that, with your help, we're going to catch these bastards."

"My name is Rebecca," the Eight said somewhat resentfully. "Rebecca Keikeya."

"_What?" _Hadrian was truly aghast; no one had told her that still another of their Cylon victims was part of the inner circle. She quickly scanned the sea of faces that were lurking just beyond the tape that they had used to fence off the crime scene. Sure enough, now that she was searching for him, the gangly frame and distinctively curly hair of Billy Keikeya were easy to spot. He was staring fixedly at his wife, the deep love and concern that he felt for her written all over his face.

"Mrs. Keikeya, please accept my apologies. I did not recognize you."

"That's all right, Sergeant", Becky said with a small smile; "I didn't recognize you either. I only returned to nursing quite recently."

"You were working on the resurrection ship," Helo recalled. He knew—everyone on New Caprica knew- that that was where the Keikeyas had first met. Their romance had been so torrid, and their passion for one another so intense, that for a time the young couple had been a source of seemingly endless amusement for man and machine alike. And then Karl had an appalling thought.

"Becky, you weren't … you weren't pregnant, were you?"

"No," she admitted in a voice that equally mixed relief with regret. "We have been trying, but so far without success."

Karl didn't know whether to be relieved or saddened. Eights instinctively wanted children, and discovering that they had been created specifically to bear them had made their collective failure just that much harder to bear.

"Were they wearing jewelry of any kind?" Caprica posed the question because it was the sort of detail that any Six would notice. She was, however, less sure of the Threes and Eights. They had never been as concerned with their appearance as the average Six.

"A bracelet," D'Anna murmured. "When he brought his left hand up to steady the gun, I saw a bracelet. It was leather, studded, and quite thick."

"Would you describe it as fancy, or plain?" Hadrian's hand drifted towards her pocket.

"It was quite ordinary in appearance. Is that significant?"

"Did it look something like this?" The sergeant reached into her jacket, and pulled out a crude leather bracelet.

D'Anna stared at it in perplexity. Then she looked up at _Galactica's _one-time master of arms before turning to her husband for an explanation.

"It's Sagittaron," Cottle explained; "and it's not really a bracelet. It's an amulet. The Sagittarons wear them whenever they fall ill. The poor fools actually believe that this trinket has healing properties."

"Mrs. Cottle, did any Sagittarons come to you earlier in the day looking for medical assistance?" Aurelia knew the answer, but she was looking for a name.

"Yes," D'Anna replied. "A few minutes before the attack, a woman came in and specifically requested to see Doctor Robert. I went to find him, but when I came back she was gone. The gunmen arrived a few seconds later."

Adama and Baltar exchanged glances, but neither of them really needed to say anything.

"Did she give her name … this woman who came to see you?" Hadrian knew that a name would mean that they had struck tylium.

"King … Mrs. Portia King."

"Right … that's it, then." The president had heard more than enough to justify issuing a warrant. "Caprica, I want you to arrest this woman, King. Charge her with being an accessory to murder … seven counts. Send in an entire squad if that's what it takes, but I want this woman behind bars in the next hour. I want her interrogated, and I don't give a damn how far you have to go to get to the truth. Do whatever it takes."

"_Whatever it takes, Mr. President?"_

"Whatever it takes," Baltar concurred.

"Six, I'd recommend that you use our marines, preferably people with some experience at crowd control. And they should dress in full combat gear." Tempers were running high in the settlement, and Adama feared that the Sagittarons would counter force with force. There was no way for anyone to know how many weapons the religious zealots had at their disposal, but the real imponderables were the number of heavy weapons in their arsenal, and their ability to use them. There was simply no point in taking chances.

. . .

"Kara, what were you thinking? More to the point, _were _you thinking?"

Starbuck clenched her fists and pursed her lips while she searched for a suitably clever response. Now that she had emerged from the shadowy recesses of hybrid Kara's mind, the ill-tempered pilot was positively spoiling for a long overdue fight. She badly needed to work off her mounting sense of frustration, but beating up the hapless Melania Peripolides had done nothing to ease the tension.

There was no way, however, that Starbuck was going to pick a fight with a Six: she had learned that lesson the hard way when she had returned to Caprica to retrieve the Arrow of Apollo. Besides, Rachel and Miriam were two of her favorite moms. She knew that they were on the _Adriatic_ for one reason, and one reason only. They were babysitting their often petulant daughter, whose temper tantrums were the stuff of legends.

"Hey, I'm a Viper pilot, all right?" The two Sixes had waited until they could confront Kara in the privacy of her own quarters. Miriam was covertly studying the mural that she had been painting over the last week, but Rachel was clearly intent upon some serious parenting. Her eyes were boring a hole in Kara's brain.

"We don't think," she added defensively. "We react. In the cockpit, thinking gets you killed!"

"Look around you, Kara. Does this look like the cockpit of your old fighter?" Rachel was relentless. "You're in command of a deep space exploration vessel—one without parallel in the history of the Colonies. Cylons, humans, centurions … we're all prepared to follow your orders, but we have to have confidence in your ability to lead …"

"It's a small ship, Kara." Miriam had decided to spice up Rachel's lecture with a few pointed comments of her own. "We may be out here for a year or more, so it's to be expected that the humans will argue and occasionally even fight. It's the nature of the beast. But you are our daughter. We hold you to a higher standard. You're supposed to separate the combatants, not start brawls of your own."

"Is this about Boomer?" In the past, Kara had always treated sex as good, healthy fun, but Rachel was acutely aware of the fact that the Eight had breached all of her daughter's defenses. Kara had finally fallen in love, and in Boomer's absence she had stubbornly insisted upon remaining celibate. The Six was firmly of the opinion that monogamy and its attendant frustrations had begun to cloud Kara's judgment and poison her behavior.

"Let's leave Sharon out of this," Starbuck snapped. Melania's words had cut far more deeply than she cared to admit, and she didn't want anyone to see just how vulnerable she had become.

"If that's the problem," Miriam helpfully remarked, "we can fix it. As you are well aware, the Eights on this ship have been systematically pairing off with humans, but by design one of our sisters has been holding herself in reserve … for you."

"Oh, I don't believe this," Starbuck snorted. "Now, on top of everything else, _you're pimping for me_?"

"No, Kara; that's not what we're saying. The truth is that we strongly disagreed with the admiral's decision to separate the two of you, so we decided to do something about it. And it's important for you to understand that Boomer fully supports what we've done."

"When any of us download," Rachel patiently explained, "our core consciousness- all of our memories, thoughts, and feelings—are transferred to the stream, but they're compartmentalized. There's a layer of general information that any Cylon can access, and immediately beneath it is a second layer that's held in reserve for other copies of that particular model. At bottom, it's the sharing of these data that gives any one model its sense of collective identity. But our feelings … the intimate experiences that make each of us a uniquely sentient being … are buried deeper still, and they are quite literally behind lock and key. In Boomer's case, every Eight has the key that allows access to the core of her being, but to do so without her permission would constitute an intolerable invasion of her privacy."

"This is bullshit," Starbuck crudely interrupted. "Sharon … Helo's wife … she has all of Boomer's memories. In the museum, when I first met her? She knew things about me … about my drunken escapades … that I never shared with anyone except Boomer. Gods! I was in love with her back then, but I was too damned stupid to realize it! Everything I told her … _everything_ … became some kind of sick joke that the whole frakking Cylon collective could enjoy. _Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?_"

"You're wrong, Kara; you simply refuse to come to grips with the fact that Boomer was a soldier, and that she volunteered to infiltrate the Colonies. Sharon's mission was to seduce Lieutenant Agathon by pretending to be Boomer, and playing upon his feelings for her. Boomer willingly gave her sister access to her deepest feelings for Galen … for Karl … for you. But it stopped there, Kara. No other Eight has ever gone in and explored Boomer's feelings for you—it's simply too dangerous. Look at it this way. Suppose an Eight wants to learn more about love … about passion … so that she will have a yardstick against which to measure her own dawning feelings when she's attracted to a human. The temptation to learn from a Boomer or a Sharon is obvious, but you are turning a blind eye to the equally obvious danger. We don't get to parse what we learn in the stream. Any Eight who's stupid enough to download Boomer's memories isn't simply going to learn about love in the abstract. She's going to fall in love with you."

"_And that's what you've done," _Starbuck shrieked. _"I'm such a mess that you got another Sharon to volunteer to give me pity fraks? Gods, I frakking do not believe this!"_

"No, child; no!" Rachel swept Kara into her arms and hugged her close. "The day before we broke orbit, Boomer went over to the resurrection ship, and downloaded her entire personality into a new body … a body without any preexisting memories. This was Boomer's gift to you, Kara—a way for the two of you to be together and to go on loving each other even when you were thousands of light years apart. Boomer's waiting for you, Kara; right now. She's waiting just outside the hatch … waiting to love you. The only memories that she can truly call her own are the ones that she has built up here on the _Adriatic_. But Boomer wanted to be fair to both of you, so she insisted that this Eight take another name … something that would give her value as a person. We allowed the Eight to choose her own name. We don't understand why she knowingly chose to commit blasphemy in the process, but we do not have the right to countermand her choice."

Miriam opened the hatch, and silently beckoned for the Eight to enter. Starbuck's eyes went wide, and she involuntarily sucked in her breath. This was Boomer, all right—down to the smallest detail. The expression on her face was one that Starbuck would happily carry with her to the grave—the exquisite sense of uncertainty that had swept across Sharon's features when Kara had taken control of the projection of the Eight's dream house on Picon. This is what Sharon had looked like in the moment when Kara had taken her clothing away and replaced it with a filmy negligee that left nothing to the imagination. Standing there, mutely staring at the woman she loved, Starbuck suddenly became aware of the blood pounding through her veins. She could feel the heat of her body's awakening arousal, the fire that had already begun to consume her.

"Kara, this is Athena. We'll leave the two of you to become better acquainted."

Without another word, Rachel and Miriam filed out of the chamber, and quietly closed the hatch behind them.

. . .

"Are you Mrs. Portia King?" Sergeant Hadrian's demeanor was casual, but in reality she was studying the woman closely. Fear was a good indicator of guilt, and Portia King had the look of a very frightened woman indeed. The Sagittaron was in her late forties or early fifties, with curly hair that was neither black nor brown, and already turning to gray. She had an ordinary face, and Aurelia doubted whether in her youth she had even been considered attractive.

"Yes; I'm Mrs. King. What do you want?"

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about the massacre at the hospital. You appear to have left just a few seconds before the gunmen arrived. Would you come with us, please?"

"Go with you … where?"

Hadrian shifted her attention to an angry young man who had been lying on a cot at the rear of the tent, but who now had his arm wrapped protectively around the woman's shoulders. The sergeant guessed that this was Willie King, the son who was supposed to be coping with the Mellorak disease. But if he was ill, it sure wasn't obvious.

"We would like your mother to accompany us to police headquarters, Mr. King …"

"She's not going anywhere," the boy protested.

"Am I under arrest," Mrs. King calmly inquired.

"We would prefer you to come of your own volition … do your duty as a citizen … help the police in their investigation of a terrible crime."

"_Am I under arrest,"_ the woman asked again, this time in a much firmer voice.

"If it comes to it … yes; I have a warrant for your arrest."

"And what are the charges," she persisted.

"You have been charged with sedition, and with being an accessory before the fact to seven counts of murder."

"So," Mrs. King smiled malevolently; "you think that I'm a terrorist."

"I think that you are in very serious trouble, Mrs. King. But I also believe that you possess information that would materially assist us in our investigation. If you choose to cooperate, you will be helping yourself in the process."

"Help a bunch of Caprican butchers persecute my people? I don't think so." Portia King's eyes were on fire, now, and Hadrian and the squad of marines crowding the tent around her knew that they were in the presence of a true believer.

"Then you're under arrest," Aurelia tersely replied. She whipped the woman around, and swiftly cuffed her hands behind her back.

"_Hey, what do you think you're doing," _Willie screamed. He put his hand on Hadrian's chest, and tried to push her away.

"And that's assault," the sergeant grunted. She beckoned to one of the heavily armored soldiers to cuff the boy as well. "And assaulting a police officer in the performance of his or her duty is a very serious felony offense. I'm placing you under arrest as well. Mr. Ferris, get them out of here."

"Yes, Ma'am," the burly marine replied. He nodded in the direction of Private Elijah Parr, a sour-faced mountain of a man whom Hadrian had chosen specifically for this job because Parr intimidated everyone who crossed his path. The two Colonial marines, who were now on detached duty with the New Caprica police, shoved their prisoners out of the tent—and straight into a mob of angry Sagittarons. There were plenty of guns in evidence, and thoughts of the _Gideon _massacre began to run through Ferris' head. Only this time … this time, it would be a straight up fight.

. . .

Starbuck slowly circled the Eight, marveling at the utter perfection of cylon technology. The way that she was standing was pure Boomer … the proud cast of her shoulders … the smell of her hair. Kara instinctively guessed that she would also have Boomer's voice, and that her speech would be littered with the colonial turns of phrase that made it so easy to separate her Eight from all the others.

Athena followed the blond-haired pilot with her eyes. In her mind, she could see the contours of Kara's body. She drew upon her memories to catalog its nooks and crannies. They had made love so many times that she knew exactly where Kara liked to be touched with exploring fingers, lips, and tongue. She knew all the right words to say—how could she not, when their very souls had long since fused?

"Kara … I …"

"Shut up," Starbuck growled. "I don't wanna hear a peep out of you, so just shut the frak up." She stopped in front of the Eight, and leaned into her face. "I don't like your jacket," she snarled. "It reminds me of Penelope Dorcas, the smart-ass sorority queen I was humping before I enlisted."

Athena hastily unbuttoned the tight-fitting cream jacket that she had favored since birth. She liked the way that it complemented her hair and drew attention to her breasts. She had a good body, and she was proud of it.

She discarded the jacket, and it fell unnoticed to the deck.

She was left wearing a simple white blouse, and not bothering with the buttons, Starbuck brutally ripped it away. The pilot cupped the twin mounds that popped into view, and began roughly to massage their nipples with the balls of her thumbs.

"Yeah," she muttered; "Boomer never was one to conceal her assets." Starbuck suddenly grabbed the Eight and violently threw her up against the wall. She gripped her wrists, pinned them high above her head, and brutally forced her way into Athena's unresisting mouth. The Eight moaned with pleasure, and thrust her hips forward, inviting Kara to take possession of the whole of her.

"You like it rough, don't you, Eight?" Starbuck kissed her on the shoulder, began nibbling with her teeth, and then bit down hard, drawing blood.

"_More," _Athena pleaded. _"Make it hurt. Show me how much you love me!"_

"_Love you?" _Starbuck laughed contemptuously. "You're just a blow-up doll … something they took off the shelf. You're nothing more than animated software made to mimic the woman I love. _How could I possibly love you?_"

"But you do," Athena protested, "because I'm her. I'm Boomer, and the sooner you accept that fact, the happier we're both going to be!"

Drawing upon her superior cylon strength, Athena twisted out of Starbuck's grasp. She lifted the astonished pilot off the deck, carried her across the room, and threw her roughly down on the bed. The Eight dropped on top of her, and getting a firm grip on Kara's hair, pinned her head in place. Athena kissed her hard, her lips and tongue unrelenting, while with her free hand she fumbled with the button on Kara's trousers. Losing patience, she savagely ripped the button loose and drove her hand into the yawning gap between her lover's legs. She forced her way in with two fingers, and began to stroke her.

Kara gasped in mingled surprise, pain, and pleasure. Gods, how she needed this!

Athena smugly stared down at her, not bothering to conceal her gleeful sense of triumph. "It looks like I'm not the only one who wants it rough," she crowed. Her fingers were sliding through Kara's juices, which were now flowing freely.

"_Damn you,"_ Starbuck moaned.

"Shut up," Athena ordered. "I don't want to hear a peep out of you, so just shut the frak up. I've got better things for you to do with your mouth." She lowered her breast into Kara's face, silently bidding her to suck on the proffered teat. Starbuck's lips eagerly slid open to accept the treasured gift, knowing just how Boomer liked it. She began gently to nibble with her teeth, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through Athena's body. Her spine began to pulsate, the crimson wave undulating in rhythm with the violent thrusts of her pelvis. Kara was her slave, body and soul, and she gloried in the proof of her ownership.

. . .

"_Back off," _Hadrian shouted. "It stops here, but only if you stand down … _now_!"

The marines fanned out around her and the prisoners, bringing their assault rifles to bear and releasing the safeties.

"Frak you," one of the bolder spirits in the crowd shouted in return.

"_They're going to kill us all," _Willie King screamed. He bolted, seeking safety in the crowd that was gathered less than three meters away.

"_Stop," _Hadrian screamed. She sighted in on the Sagittaron's right knee, intending to take him down, when her head exploded in a sea of blood and brains. A marine named Maldonado, a notorious malcontent, had his rifle on full auto, and his first burst cut Willie King in half. Parr was the next to open up, emptying his magazine as he methodically swept his rifle back and forth, mowing down the front rows of the densely packed mob like a sickle working its way through a wheat field. Two more marines went down, and a stray round caught Portia King squarely in the center of her forehead.

The marines were taking heavy fire from small arms within the crowd, and there was at least one sniper off somewhere in the distance, walking a long gun down the line.

Nathaniel Ferris knew a full-blown FUBAR when he saw it, and with his noncom and their two prisoners all dead, he also knew that it was time to get the hell out of Caprica City.

"_Marines, we are leaving!"_ Pausing only long enough to pick up one of his fallen comrades, Ferris stumbled blindly back into the tent. The canvas wouldn't protect them from the sniper, but it was the only cover inside the kill zone, which made it better than nothing.

Maldonado used his knife to cut an opening on the back side, and staying low, the surviving marines leapt through the opening and sprinted for the shelter of the surrounding tents. They took no further fire, but they didn't relax until they were well beyond the edge of the Sagittaron zone.

The abortive attempt to arrest Portia King cost the lives of three marines and thirty-nine Sagittarons. An hour later, President Gaius Baltar formally declared a state of national emergency, and invoked martial law. Ninety minutes thereafter, when the Sagittaron delegate to the Quorum publicly refused to disclose the headquarters of the Sagittaron Brotherhood, the President made one last, desperate attempt to nip the rebellion in the bud. In the central marketplace, in front of a large gathering of humans and Cylons, Gaius Baltar declared Quentin Margus guilty of treason, and executed him with a single shot to the head.

It was the three hundred and sixty-third day of the exodus.


	17. Chapter 17: The Dark Before the Dawn

CHAPTER 17

THE DARK BEFORE THE DAWN

"I suppose that I should relish my new-found freedom," Six ruefully commented. She was peering out through the tent flap, while behind her Eric Lackey was rushing around, hastily stuffing his belongings into a pair of bulky knapsacks. The two marines, who normally followed her everywhere, had simply vanished.

"It's so quiet," she continued, "and so still. There doesn't seem to be anyone moving around out there at all."

"It's the dark before the dawn," Eric tersely responded. "Right now, my people are digging in … preparing for the worst. And on the other side … frankly, the marines have got better things to do than babysitting a Six who's been a model prisoner. But trust me. As soon as Baltar gets his head out of his ass, we're gonna have front row seats to a bloodbath."

"_If _… we're still here." Six trailed off, but there was no mistaking the note of uncertainty in her voice. "Eric, are you sure that we should be doing this? If I turn myself into the police, Caprica … my sister … she'll keep me safe."

"Or maybe she'll have you boxed on the premise that any Cylon who sleeps with a Sagittaron must be mentally unbalanced. Hell, Six, I don't have the answers. At this point, all I know for sure is that I love you, I want us to be together, and it's just way too dangerous for us to stay here. Right now, I say that we clear out, find a place to lie low until this mess gets sorted, and then we decide what we're gonna do."

"But we'll be fugitives," Six protested. "Eric, right now, you haven't done anything wrong. But I'm a convicted criminal; if you help me escape and they catch us, they'll put you in jail too. Then, we'll never be together."

"It's a big planet, Six, and it'll be hours … maybe days … before anyone realizes that we've flown the coop. By the time the police catch on, we'll be long gone."

"But where, Eric … where are we going to go?"

"For a start, we'll work our way upstream. We pack blankets and clothing, enough food to last a week, and we find a cave that we can hole up in. Rumor has it that there are thousands of them in the cliff face … about fifty miles north of here. Then we live off the land. We hunt and we fish. Trust me, Six: I'm good at this. We won't freeze to death, and we won't starve. I'll keep you safe. I promise."

Eric pulled her close, and gave his Six a long, lingering kiss. Her happiness crisply defined the boundaries of his universe.

"I love you, Eric," she sighed as she rested her brow against his forehead. "And no matter what happens, I will never stop loving you. If you think this is best …"

"I do," he replied in a voice brimming with confidence. "Now, we want our hands to be free, so let's get these packs up onto our shoulders."

They took turns helping each other to balance the bulky backpacks, and then Eric handed Six one of his military issue handguns. She looked at the gun curiously.

"It's amazing the things that people lose when they're out working in the fields," he joked. Finally, Eric picked up the hunting rifle that he had purchased on the black market. They were ready to go. Without a backward glance, the darkly handsome young Sagittaron led Six out of the tent, and together they cautiously made their way toward the outskirts of the city.

. . .

When Marc Jacobs stormed through the door, the grim expression on his face told Philista and Sharon everything that they needed to know. Although she was not even showing, Philista's hands nevertheless flew protectively to her belly.

"Gods, what a mess," he said with a resigned shrug. "The Sagittarons have gone completely round the bend. Shooting up the hospital … gunning down a whole squad of marines sent in to arrest one of the terrorists … it's all falling apart."

"What is the President doing to restore order," Sharon asked. Marc and Philista both understood that she was really asking how Sharon Baltar had decided to deal with the crisis. Gaius Baltar had turned out to be a good president in large part because he had a lively sense of his own limitations. He wasn't a politician, and he cheerfully conceded it. When Billy Keikeya and Tory Foster spoke, he listened. When they were sufficiently insistent, he dutifully followed their advice. He was easily bored by administrative routine, and was only too happy to turn the day-to-day governance of New Caprica over to his wife. He never tried to undermine her, nor did he try and take credit for her accomplishments.

"Baltar's declared martial law," Marc summarized. "He publicly executed Quentin Margus, the Sagittaron delegate to the Quorum, for treason. Can you believe the bastard grew enough balls to pull the trigger himself?"

"People shouldn't underestimate Gaius," Sharon mused. "He was the driving force behind our coup against the Cavils. He treats the centurions well, so they'll fight for him without hesitation."

"Well, he's now put out edicts suspending habeas corpus, freedom of the press, and freedom of assembly. There's a dusk to dawn curfew in effect, and that guy on _The Colonial Gang_ … McManus? Mathias hauled him out of a press conference, and took him straight to jail. Can you believe that, in the midst of all this chaos, he had the nerve to ask Baltar whether the rumors about Earth being a burnt-out wasteland are true? The word is that a couple of Sixes have been sent in to teach him some manners."

"They should use his mouth for potty training," Philista laughed scornfully. "The seditious bastard has put out so much crap that a battalion of centurions would need a day to shovel it all up."

"So, when's Adama going to send in the marines," Sharon wanted to know.

"Maybe never," Marc sheepishly replied.

"Huh?" Philista was so astonished that her mouth fell open.

"Adama has come out in support of Baltar; however, he wants to minimize casualties on our side by sending in the centurions. But the President wants to resolve the crisis with what he's calling _'a human solution'_. He doesn't want the Cylons or the centurions to become involved. It's a stalemate, but it won't last long because the marines want blood. Sergeant Hadrian wasn't particularly well liked, but her command respected her, and having her brains blown out by a sniper at long range isn't going down well in the ranks."

"You're right, Marc; it's a mess." _And it's becoming increasingly obvious that the only reason your primate ancestors got up on their hind legs was so that they could pick up clubs with their forepaws and start beating each other to death. How you've survived as a species to this point is a mystery for which not even God may have the answer. _"What, if anything, can we do to help?"

"Thanks, Sharon; I knew that I could count on you." Jacobs leaned forward and tenderly kissed the gorgeous young Cylon who had become so intrinsic a part of his life. "I made the rounds. I told Gianna O'Neill and Sharon Agathon to get themselves and the babies out here as quickly as possible. Esther Cohen has already taken David and gone to ground; she had enough sense to appeal to the Eights for protection. They took her in, no questions asked."

"What about D'Anna … _what about Samuel_?"

"D'Anna won't leave Major Cottle, so they're still in the hospital." Marc looked at Sharon with sudden concern. "Don't worry, sweetheart; they're safe. The centurions have cordoned off the whole facility. They've even put two missile batteries up on the roof."

"Are the babies really in danger?" Philista simply didn't want to believe that anyone could be cruel enough to harm newborns.

"Yeah," Jacobs grudgingly conceded. He looked at Sharon, but he didn't know how to soften the blow. "The Sagittarons regard all of us as blasphemers. They consider the children an affront to the gods. Given the chance … they'll kill them."

"They sound just like the Cavils," Sharon spat. "Those bastards should have moved to Sagittaron decades ago, and left the rest of us to settle our differences peacefully. It's nice to know that, when it comes to hatred and intolerance, Cylons and humans are about evenly matched."

"Amen to that," Marc echoed.

Sharon picked up her hunting rifle, and pocketed a spare box of cartridges. Without another word, she headed for the door.

"_Sharon, what are you doing? Where are you going?" _Philista was on the verge of panic.

"I'm going to check the perimeter," the Eight grimly declared. There was a fierce gleam in her eyes. "My sisters will be here shortly … in strength. They will expect me to have a deployment plan already in place, and I don't intend to disappoint them. We will do whatever it takes to keep the babies safe."

Philista started to protest, but Marc shushed her. Their house was on the edge of a forest that Sharon knew intimately. The huntress would pin down their weak points, and compensate for them.

"Phi, we're gonna have a lot of company tonight," he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "You and I … we need to figure how we're gonna feed everybody and where to bed them down. Let's get to it."

. . .

"Damn it, dad, you of all people should know better! You grew up during the first war. How many of your friends eventually went home in body bags because in the beginning people like your uncle Sammy thought using centurions to fight the Tauron civil war was a really clever idea? _How in the name of God could you even think about going down this path?_"

Lee's voice had turned shrill, but it barely registered his anger and frustration.

"Don't lecture me, son," Bill coldly replied. "This is a numbers game. The centurions can take the hits. The marines can't. It's as simple as that."

"_As simple as that," _Lee echoed incredulously. He looked around the admiral's office, seeking support from any quarter when he suddenly realized that this was an almost exclusively cylon gathering. Ellen and Saul Tigh had shuttled up from the surface along with Lee and Creusa. Shelly was seated at her husband's side, and Sonja was standing quietly in the background. The only other human in the room was Colonel Alexander Phillips; the combat engineer was the senior marine officer, and the crisis had found him hard at work on _Galactica_. Together, Phillips and Peter Laird were currently supervising a thorough overhaul of _Cloud Nine_. With the refit of the massive _Zephyr_ finally behind them, Phillips had been looking forward to spending a couple of quiet days at his favorite fishing hole—an ice cold, rushing mountain stream more than a hundred miles north of the settlement. The insurrection had put an abrupt end to his well-conceived plan to warm up _Galactica's_ ice cold Cylon XO. He badly wanted to see what Sonja's eyes looked like in the glow of a campfire.

"You've been busy," Lee noted as he fingered the white, wooden crib at the foot of his father's desk. There was a rocking chair that had not been in evidence on his last trip, but it was the crib and the diaper pail stored beneath it that gave the admiral's quarters the air of a nursery.

"John cleaned out the Colonies." Shelly was speaking up for the first time. However delicately, Lee was suggesting that his father hadn't been paying attention to business. Bill hadn't caught the implied criticism, so it fell to Shelly to defend her husband. "Natalie brought back enough cribs to house thirty-five thousand babies. Making choices can be a bit overwhelming, so we have given Polyxena a free hand to put the nursery together. If Creusa needs help, I'm sure that Xena would be delighted to assist."

"Thank you, sister." Creusa's smile did not quite reach her eyes: she wasn't about to let another Six run circles around her husband. "You are fortunate that your adoptive daughter knows so much about infants. But we are not without our own resources. Shevon has taken us both under her wing, so much so that little Paya is eagerly awaiting the birth of her baby sister."

"Oh, yes; I remember … the prostitute with the proverbial heart of gold. I don't get down to the settlement very often. Is it true, then? Have the Sixes and the prostitutes formed a sisterhood?"

"Yes," Creusa solemnly agreed. "We're all just one big, happy family." No one present missed the heavy note of irony in her voice. "Even Anthia has learned how to change a diaper."

"It helps that none of the prostitutes are Sagittaron." Lee caught the undercurrent of tension in the room, but he wasn't quite sure what his wife and Shelly were up to. In any event, he wanted to get the discussion back on topic. "Nor are there any conflicts of interest among the marines. Captain Lysander is having a hard time keeping them in check. They want this mission, dad; they want it very badly."

"And that's precisely the problem," Adama countered. "This could turn into the _Gideon_ all over again, only on a much larger scale. The marines want payback, and that guarantees more casualties than I'm prepared to tolerate. The centurions can carry out this assignment with surgical precision, and the intimidation factor alone will cause a lot of the Sagittarons to surrender without a fight."

"Admiral, may I ask a question?"

"Go ahead, Colonel."

Phillips rubbed his chin while he thought about how best to phrase what he wanted to say. Finally, he looked the admiral straight in the eye.

"What do you think Major Bierns would do in this situation?"

Adama started to reply, but then his jaw closed with an audible snap. He glanced at Shelly. She wasn't military, but her instincts were sound. Bill was acutely aware of the fact that things tended to go badly whenever he failed to follow her advice.

"Colonel, I think I'll let my wife field that one."

"John would encourage us to seek common ground," Shelly thoughtfully answered. She wanted to mollify her sister, but without undercutting her husband. "He would see in this tragedy an opportunity to bring Cylon and human closer together."

"We're talking about a joint forces mission," Saul prompted.

"A compromise," Ellen agreed. The Tighs had been thinking along these lines from the beginning.

Bill thought it over, and decided to take the out that Shelly had offered him. "So, who do we want to take charge of planning the operation and carrying it out?" Bill looked around the room while he continued to think out loud. "It has to be someone acceptable to the president, the centurions, and the marines. That's a tall order."

"Not really, Bill; in fact, I'd say that our choice is rather obvious." Shelly looked expectantly at Lee Adama. She knew _exactly_ how to please her sister.

"_What? Hey, wait a second,"_ Lee protested. _"I'm a pilot. I don't know a damned thing about ground warfare!"_

"Who better for the job than the President's National Security Advisor," Saul grinned. He began to tick off points on his fingers. "You know every hidey-hole in the settlement. You want to save lives. You know how to put our air superiority to good use. You're married to one of my daughters. You work well with centurions, and the marines hate your guts. You're the perfect choice!"

"Congratulations, Lee; the job's all yours." Bill stood up, and walked over to shake Apollo's hand. "I know that you won't let us down!"

. . .

Eric and Six cleared the last row of tents in the dying light of the late afternoon sun. He halted in the lengthening shadows, and knelt in the patchy grass. Six dropped down beside him, and began systematically to scan the fields that now lay directly in front of them. She was looking for the telltale signs of movement; Eric was studying the ground itself. He didn't want to leave a trail for anyone to follow, which left him with two options: cut across dry ground, or stay on an already well-trodden path. He preferred the former alternative to the latter; the thought of running into a centurion out in the open made him nervous in the extreme.

"Do you see anything," he asked. He knew that Six's vision was much sharper than his own.

"No," Six replied as she continued to study the terrain. "If there's anyone else out here, they're hiding."

"Everybody's probably gone home. If I was in their shoes … after what happened to Quentin Margus, I'd take the curfew pretty damned seriously. Still, we'll play it safe … wait until true dark."

"That won't help if there are centurions out here. With their infrared vision, they can lock in on our heat signatures. Cooling temperatures actually work to their advantage."

"But you can get us past them, right? Order them to ignore us, erase the encounter from their logs, and overwrite it with false data?"

"In theory, the centurions can't tell one Six from another, so that should be possible. But I would prefer not to put the theory to the test."

"I hear you. So, here's what we're gonna do. One of the Eights has shacked up with a couple of humans. They've build themselves a cozy little love nest out on the edge of the forest. We're gonna start out in the opposite direction, but once we're well out in the fields, we'll change course and start circling in their direction. We'll take it slow, avoid walking in a straight line, and enter the woods a couple of hundred yards to the south of the house. Then we'll just walk right up to the door, knock politely, and ask for help. If they ask, we're just another couple of refugees fleeing the chaos in the settlement."

"Once we're in the forest," Six frowned, "we should probably start making a lot of noise … give the Sharon plenty of advance warning that we're in the neighborhood."

Eric looked at her inquiringly.

"Trust me, Eric; it's not a good idea to try and sneak up on an Eight in the dark. In fact, it's about the worst idea imaginable. They're hunters, and the forest is their natural element. If she decides to take us down, we'll never see her coming."

The unlikely lovers gave it another half hour, and then set off on their trek across the fields.

. . .

"_He's so small,"_ the Sharon whispered. She was cradling David Cohen in her arms; the baby was asleep, and she didn't want to wake him. _"So light and so fragile," _she added in a tone that was filled with wonder. She had never held a child before, never mind a newborn, and this one simple act was unleashing powerful emotions unlike anything that she had ever experienced. _How odd, _she thought. _It feels like I'm being tossed about by stormy waves on a raging sea, and yet I've never known such complete peace. This is my purpose in life._

"Yes, but babies grow up so fast," Esther observed. "That's why every day- even the ones that make you feel like you want to run screaming into the night- are to be treasured. The first time they laugh, their first steps, the first time he'll say 'mama' … every moment is to be treasured."

Sharon was sitting at the kitchen table, Esther kneeling at her side. She ran her fingers affectionately through her son's blond locks, and the Eights that quietly circled them could feel her love for the child pouring out of her in waves.

Out in the living room, Hera Agathon was up to her usual tricks. She let out a warning cry whenever one of the other Sharons got close enough to try and take her from her mother's arms. Sherman O'Neill, in contrast, cooed contentedly as he was periodically passed from one Eight to the next. With her husband's encouragement, Gianna had decided to give her sisters-in-law a taste of what motherhood was all about. Hopefully, a few of them would be inspired to make a more determined effort to lure a human into marriage.

Karl Agathon surveyed the room, and chuckled knowingly. The Queen of Heaven, which had somehow become his daughter's nickname, was regally presiding over the Liu household, which currently resembled nothing quite so much as a giant maternity ward.

The door burst open, and another Eight charged into the room. "We've got company," she said without preamble. "There are people out in the woods, and they're coming this way. Given the amount of noise they're making … well, we need to get ready."

The atmosphere in the living area changed instantly. It was, Karl thought, as if someone had thrown a switch. In the blink of an eye, the hitherto maternal Sharons were transformed into very determined predators.

"Our sister is tracking them now," the Eight went on. "If she senses danger, she'll eliminate the threat."

. . .

"Six, I feel like an idiot! We're making enough noise to wake the dead!"

In the dim light cast by the nebula, Six spotted a dead branch off to her right. She sidestepped, and put her foot down hard. The branch snapped with a loud crack.

"It's better to wake the dead than to join them," she countered.

"I started hunting with my dad when I was eight years old," Eric reminisced. "Bow and arrow season came first … in the early fall. All those years … and I never even came close. But when it came time to lock and load … five years in a row, Six … _five years in a row_! I brought down a buck … put food on the table. I know how to do this."

"_Stop!" _Six raised her arm into the air, commanding Eric not to take another step.

"Sister? I know that you're out there. We need your help. Why don't you show yourself?"

"Tell the human to put the rifle down," Sharon instructed. She was off to their left, somewhere in the shadows.

"We have you surrounded." It was another Eight, speaking from behind them. "We're not your friends, Six … _and we are most definitely not your sisters_! Don't think for a moment that we'll hesitate. From our point of view, the easiest way to deal with this situation is to kill the both of you. Maybe you'll resurrect … but then again … maybe not. So, do exactly what we tell you to do, or deal with the consequences."

"_Hey! Easy … easy," _Eric called out as he slowly lowered the rifle to the ground. "All we want is a place to hide tonight, and safe passage in the morning. We don't want to make trouble for you, or anybody else. We just wanna get out of New Caprica before everything goes to Hell."

Four Sharons emerged from the woods and advanced slowly toward the Cylon and the human. "Do you have any other weapons," one of them queried.

"Yes," Six replied. "Sidearms … hunting knives … we're planning to head north, and live off the land."

"Then put your hands in the air … both of you," Sharon commanded. Eric and Six hastened to obey. One of the Eights came up behind them, and ran her hands roughly up and down their bodies. She found the handguns, and casually tossed them to one of her sisters. Eric told her that the knives were in their knapsacks; two of the other Sharons promptly relieved them of their packs.

"You seem to know the way," Sharon Liu sarcastically commented, "so, by all means, lead on!"

. . .

"Mister President, for what it's worth … I agree with you completely. From a military point of view, my father's thinking is tactically sound, but he's not a politician and he doesn't appreciate how delicate the present situation really is. Shelly and Saul persuaded him to accept this compromise, and you have to admit that a joint operation is a much better option than having the centurions storming the barricades."

Lee Adama nodded almost imperceptibly in the direction of Marcus Lysander. Upon returning to the surface, Apollo had set off in search of the veteran marine officer. The two men had quickly cobbled together a mission plan that divided responsibility for the assault on the Sagittaron sector between them. Apollo would use his aerial assets to pin the insurgents down, and Lysander would lead the centurions and marines in a close quarters ground assault. Both men wanted to minimize casualties, but they also acknowledged that, even in a tent city, urban warfare could get real ugly, real fast.

"We can take the terrorists down," Lysander confidently remarked. "Counter insurgency training is something that the marines have stressed ever since the last Tauron civil war. Our problem is manpower. We just don't have enough bodies to secure the streets that we're sweeping. So, Captain Adama and I have tasked the centurions to police the perimeter, which will increase in depth as we push forward. No one, not even a Sagittaron, is going to get too frisky around a seven foot tall titanium killing machine."

"I want you to take their Elders alive … especially Cyrus Uri." Gaius had decided to be blunt. "We'll give them a show trial. But I also want to send a message to the Sons of Ares … let them know that there are lines that cannot be crossed, and that there will always be consequences for those who go too far."

"In short, the Sagittaron Brotherhood has outlived its usefulness," Sharon Baltar said in a deadpan tone.

"I'll take charge of the centurions personally," Caprica announced. "My presence will underscore the fact that this is a police operation. But Marcus, I want you to take one of my sisters into custody as well. I'm referring to one of the Sixes who were convicted of war crimes. She was supposed to return to her cell two hours ago, but so far hasn't put in an appearance. Six has a Sagittaron boyfriend—a relationship that we have encouraged as a means of integrating her into the community. She may not think that it's safe to leave their tent, or she may be taking advantage of the current crisis in order to attempt an escape. Find her, and bring her to me."

. . .

"We have guests," Sharon announced as the other Eights herded Eric and Six into the crowded living room. "Uninvited … unwanted …"

"The human can stay," one of her sisters interrupted. She had stood up and was boldly looking the Sagittaron male over from head to toe. She decided that he had the same dreamy hair as Gaius Baltar, only it was thicker and darker. "He's not bad looking … although his taste in women is certainly subject to question."

This elicited a round of soft chuckles from every corner of the room.

"But I've agreed to put them up for the night," Sharon continued, ignoring the interruption. "But only for the night; they'll be moving on in the morning."

"What are you doing here," another Eight pressed. "There's a curfew in effect. Why aren't you in the settlement?"

"I'm a Sagittaron," Eric confessed; "at least, that's where I was born and raised. But I'm not one of those pig-headed morons who go around digging up roots and eating the bark off of trees—and I am definitely _not_ in the habit of murdering doctors and shooting at colonial marines. I figure that Baltar won't settle for executing Quentin Margus because the marines won't let it go at that. They want revenge, and my people will hunker down and fight back. They'll fight back hard. Six and I don't want to be caught in the crossfire."

"So the Sagittarons won't give up the murderers and allow justice to run its course?" Gianna O'Neill was aghast. "That's insane!"

"The Sagittarons have a chip on their shoulders the size of Mount Olympus," Esther Cohen observed. "In fairness, they've been persecuted for so long that a lot of them have probably developed a martyr complex."

"_All for one, and one for all," _Philista snorted. "They're inviting a massacre."

"Yeah," Eric agreed; "like I said to Six earlier, this is only going to end one way … with a bloodbath."

"Are these the hybrid babies?" Six, who had so far remained silent, was staring at the three infants, all of whom were now being coddled by Eights. Her features, and her demeanor, had noticeably softened.

"Yes," Sharon Agathon answered. "This is my daughter, Hera …"

"Otherwise known as 'the Queen of Heaven', Helo laughed.

"And the two boys are Sherman O'Neill, and David Cohen." Sharon pointed at each of them in turn.

Six walked slowly across the room, and dropped to her knees in front of the Eight who was cradling David in her arms. The baby was still sleeping soundly.

"He's so beautiful," she murmured. "Truly, God has smiled upon the cylon." She reached out, and with a single finger gently stroked David's cheek.

"My son was conceived on Caprica," Esther bitterly reminded her; "inside one of your breeding farms. I very much doubt whether your god smiles upon rape."

"_But you weren't raped," _Six protested. "No one violated you. Artificial insemination is … well, _it's not rape_!"

"If you think that, then you really are a machine," Esther scoffed. "I don't even have the cold comfort of knowing which model is the father. How am I supposed to explain all of this to my son when he's old enough to start asking questions?"

"Leoben … one of the Twos … he's David's father. He was killed in the battle where I was captured. He's still boxed … on the resurrection ship."

"_How do you know," _Esther squeaked. _"How could you possibly know?"_

"I ran the program … kept all of the records."

"_You ran the program?"_

"Yes … I ran the program. Your child is one of the crimes for which I have been condemned in the human court. I still do not understand. How can it be a crime to bring something so beautiful into the universe?"

A snarl escaped Esther's lips, and then she slapped the Six so hard that she landed on her back. Eric and Karl both rushed forward to prevent further violence, but Esther had already started to calm down.

"Leoben would be so proud of his son," Six wistfully remarked as she climbed to her feet. "He volunteered for the program because he wanted to have children. If you unbox him," she explained as she turned to address Sharon Agathon, whom she reckoned to be the real authority figure in this room, "he would prove a devoted father. David would never want for anything."

"It will snow in Hades before I let a Two anywhere near my son," Esther fumed.

"All of the information relevant to the birth fathers is in the stream," Six went on. She was still looking directly at Sharon. "You can access it easily. Shouldn't the father be reunited with his son?"

. . .

She was unconscious one moment, and in the next fully awake. It was like that with Cylons.

Boomer looked out through the canopy, and was chagrined to realize that she didn't recognize any of the star patterns spread out before her. She lowered the Raptor's nose, hoping that a change of scene would also change her luck. A planet lazily swam into view.

"_What the …"_

She ripped her helmet away, and pressed her nose against the canopy.

"_It has to be an optical illusion,"_ she yelled out loud.

_Maybe I'm trapped inside a projection … maybe I'm dead. Maybe this is Heaven._

It was a blue world—a world of oceans girdling continents in varying shades of green and brown. Fleecy white clouds crowned the whole.

Boomer dropped into orbit, and slowly began to chase the sun. She left an ocean behind her—one so vast that it could easily have swallowed most of the Colonial worlds. An enormous mountain range spread out before her, the high peaks everywhere capped with fields of ice. Beyond the mountains lay desert. Eventually, she crossed over to the night side, and this time what she saw literally took her breath away. There were no satellites in orbit, no electronic emissions for her instruments to capture, but far beneath her, in scores if not hundreds of locations, the telltale flicker of firelight told its own story. The flames reached out to her as if in greeting.

_Inhabited … my God … this world is inhabited!_

Coming quickly to a decision, Boomer slipped out of orbit and headed for the surface. She would land somewhere under the cover of night, near a city or a town, and set off on foot to learn what she could. Her instruments had already informed her that the atmosphere was breathable, and gravity within ten percent of Caprican norms. Following established protocols, she would accordingly sample the flora and, if possible, the fauna. Initially, she would observe the inhabitants from a distance. However, if she could devise a plan that did not involve serious risk, she fully intended to introduce herself to one of the locals before returning to space.

Boomer set the Raptor down in the desert to the west of a river valley that appeared to be densely populated. A heavily eroded gulley provided natural concealment. With binoculars and camera in hand, she set off across the arid wilderness. There was a settlement of some kind seven or eight kilometers due east of her present position. It seemed like a good place to start.


	18. Chapter 18: Intermezzo

**Warning: this chapter has suggestive content.**

CHAPTER 18

INTERMEZZO

Lacy Rand walked slowly through the pasture, her path taking her farther and farther away from the cliff face that overlooked the sea. The mountains seemed far away, but she didn't trust her eyes because distances at Galatea Bay were always misleading. Still, she sensed that the once tiny universe of John's creation was larger now—or perhaps, she thought, it simply possessed greater complexity.

She found Deirdre and John lying on a grassy embankment overlooking the lake, with their tiny daughter sitting up on a blanket between them. A picnic basket completed the bucolic scene, and Lacy would have smiled … except that what was happening on the far side of the lake filled her with such wonder that it froze her in place. John was idly revisiting the craggy peaks and granite outcroppings that defined the outer limits of his world. Their contours were shifting constantly in response to his mental touch, but he seemed particularly unhappy with the waterfalls. As Lacy quietly watched, their paths widened and then narrowed. Huge boulders suddenly appeared at their base, causing the water to explode in misty curtains that gave birth to vivid rainbows. She had never seen anything quite so beautiful.

With an effort, Lacy lowered her aged bones into the grass, and sat down at John's side. For a time, she remained silent, content to observe an artist at work on an incomprehensible canvas. Deirdre watched her curiously, wondering what she would say.

"I have tried more than once to enter Zoe's creation," she finally remarked. "I would imagine that it looks something like this, but I don't really know. She has refused to admit me. Perhaps she is unaware of my presence."

"She knows," Bierns responded in an assured tone. Although he could not always fathom the meaning of what he saw, nothing in this dimension escaped the spook's awareness. Zoe and Tamara were a dark cloud at the far periphery of his vision. Neither had come to terms with immortality, nor with the peculiar character of her exile. John doubted whether the Blessed Mother would understand that Zoe had barred her from entering the virtual world for her own good.

"Olivia made it home," Lacy added as she abruptly changed the subject. "Even now, her sisters are consoling her for the loss of her ship. I must confess that I had my doubts. As terrible as today was, it is still good to know that physical death need no longer banish my daughters into the darkness."

"Not all of them," John tersely reminded her. With a deep sigh, he focused his full attention on his old friend and mentor. "I felt their presence … I knew exactly where Cavil's hybrids were. But it was like trying to grab hold of a greased pole. I couldn't find a path that would lead me into their minds—and believe me, I have a lot of experience in this area."

John looked affectionately at his virtual wife. Months before the holocaust, when he had been near death, Deirdre had gently but relentlessly probed the barriers that Erika Waldstein had erected around his mind. It had taken the hybrid more than two weeks to gain admission, but she had opened her own mind in return. While his body slowly healed, Deirdre had taught him how to navigate the stream. Unlike the Cylons, the First Born did not have to enter it physically to swim in its waters.

"Cassie says that Angela has successfully downloaded, but that we have lost many Raiders. By now, Cavil will have deduced that humanity has found a refuge in the nebula. He may not have the address, John, but he knows where to look. It's just a matter of time."

"I'm more concerned about Boomer," John admitted with a frown. "If the Ones have her, there's a good possibility that they'll torture her for information. Everybody breaks, Mother. In the end, Sharon will give them New Caprica, and if they ask the right questions, they may even stumble upon Gemenon. We have to start from that assumption, which means that we've run out of options. We'll have to limp home and dump the entire mess in Adama's lap. I don't envy him his choices."

"Then we should move very quickly," Lacy concluded, "because Cavil won't have to torture her." She looked pointedly at John Bierns. "He can extract everything that she knows from the stream."

"We have time," Deirdre smiled. She tenderly stroked her husband's arm. "After Boomer returned to the fleet, John debriefed her. He confirmed what we have always suspected— after Sharon committed suicide, Cavil traced _Galactica_ to Kobol by sifting through the memories that she unwittingly deposited in the stream. John has had the Fours quietly working on this problem for months. They've tweaked the hardware … installed partitions inside the synaptic relays that isolate critical files behind encrypted firewalls. Boomer's download will yield a mass of disinformation, intermixed with just enough truth not to contradict what the Raiders will disclose."

"It's a variation on the behavioral modification technique that Doctor Waldstein used to prep me for my mission," John elaborated. "But Sharon won't shut down the way that I did. That's the problem. If the Cavils get suspicious and decide to lay her wide open, eventually they'll uncover the truth."

"And in the meantime, we have to deal with the very real consequences of our defeat." The Blessed Mother continued to stare hard at her protégé. "How are the Eights responding?"

"Not well," John conceded. "Almost a hundred of them had partnered with _Pegasus_ officers and enlisted. There was nothing casual about these relationships … Eights aren't like that. They made deep emotional commitments, and now they have to cope with the pain that accompanies loss. But they don't know how to grieve; nothing in their programming has prepared them for this. The rest of us are doing what we can to help, but it's not enough."

"How bad …" Lacy halted in mid-sentence; she didn't know how to ask the inevitable question.

"We never tried to integrate the crews," John ruefully confessed. "No one on _Galactica_ mourned Cain's passing, and that didn't go down well with a lot of her people. They were heavily concentrated on Olivia's ship. Red Squadron has been wiped out. Three other Viper squadrons were deployed around the baseship for defensive purposes, and they were already being cut to pieces by Cavil's Raiders before the ship blew. All but four of the jocks were inside the blast radius when it went up. Riley … Kelso … all of the officers are gone. Peter Kelso's Eight is utterly devastated."

"So much death," Lacy sadly murmured.

"There were a few knuckle draggers on the other two baseships, but that's about it. We started the day with 364 _Pegasus_ crew; there are now eleven left."

"And Natalie's ship … the children … _what about the children_?" This was the question that Lacy had wanted to ask from the beginning, but her courage had failed her. She had been far too afraid of the answer.

"The ship itself was severely damaged, and we lost pilots, but either we got very lucky or there really is a God who's looking out for us. There were no human casualties on board … not even serious injuries. Larissa and the Sixes kept the children safe, but Melpomene …"

John still found it hard to credit what he had learned after the fact.

"Apparently … as soon as we came out of jump … Melpomene tore out of the safe room. I'm told that you would have thought the Furies were chasing her. There were fires in the corridors … smoldering cylon corpses … fallen beams. It didn't matter. She was determined to get to Reun. Even Henry was hard pressed to keep up with her—and the two of them are inseparable. Of course, all of the other children go wherever Melpomene leads, so dozens of Sixes and centurions ended up crowding into my sister's chamber. Later, Melpomene made her way to the Remembrance Wall, which was intact, and led everyone in prayer for the souls of those lost this day. She put out the fires on our ship … the ones that really mattered."

"So, where do we go from here, John? And I'm not referring to New Caprica." Lacy Rand's voice had grown very soft. "Gemenon must be protected at all costs."

John Bierns pensively studied the horizon while he thought about how best to answer the Blessed Mother's question. He opted for transparency.

"We have to take down resurrection. That's always been the key to winning the peace; now, it may well be our only realistic chance of winning the war."

. . .

"You know," Kara growled, "it would be a lot easier for the Muse to find me if you weren't draped across my frakking back!" She studied the mural, which now reached from floor to ceiling, and covered three of her cabin's four walls.

"Your back is one of the few places I haven't visited with my tongue," Athena countered with a seductive smile. "And all you're doing is taking your frustrations out on me. You're still not happy with the asteroid field." Athena was studying a stretch of wall a few feet to their left.

"Damned right I'm not happy with it," Kara fired back. "Asteroids are a bitch … hard to fly through … and even harder to paint. And just for the record: do you have _any_ idea how many frakkin' times I had to mix the red and yellow to get just the right shade of ochre?"

"For the red planet," Athena murmured; "the next one in from the gas giant." She had her arms wrapped around Kara's waist, and she chose this moment to start nibbling on her lover's shoulder. Starbuck was wearing her tanks, which left a lot of skin exposed, but there was no bra to impede the Eight's periodic voyages of discovery. Her fingers drifted up and began to explore Kara's nipples, which hardened instantly under her touch.

"You're not helping," Kara complained. But she leaned back, craving the feel of the Cylon's lips against her skin. Her breathing was already erratic, and Athena took this as a signal to continue with her erotic massage.

"You just need a little inspiration," the Eight wickedly retorted. "And do I need to remind you that _I_ am your muse? Will I have to spank you to drive the point home?"

"Stupid assed skin job …"

"Half-breed …"

"Toaster slut …"

"Hybrid squaw…"

"Gods, but I love this game," Kara laughed as she twisted around and hungrily kissed her Eight. "I'm thinking about exercising the captain's privilege … move all the Sharons in here and start my very own harem."

"Haven't you noticed? My sisters have all been snapped up. Humans may be dumb, and the male of the species barely able to stand erect, but even they know a good thing when they see it. If you want a harem, you'll have to settle for Threes and Sixes."

"Haven't tried a Six yet," Kara said with a straight face. "Is mommy dearest any good?"

"Well, they're not up to my standards, but I am rather demanding. Do you want to break one in?"

"Nah … it sounds too much like work. I'm in therapy, remember? Recreational sex is supposed to take the edge off … distract me from my other favorite pastime—which is beating up Melania frakkin' Peripolides."

"Why don't we invite a Three to join us?" Athena's eyes were bright with feigned innocence. "Perhaps there really is a beating heart beneath that ice cold exterior. If it's there, it would be good for your ego to make the volcano erupt."

"There's nothing wrong with my ego," Kara protested.

"Nothing that an hour or two on the couch with your friendly local therapist can't cure," Athena mocked. She began gently but firmly to steer Kara in the direction of their bed. She hadn't bothered asking for permission to move in, and the temperamental Starbuck really didn't need to know the extent to which Miriam and Rachel had now taken charge of her life. Sooner or later, Kara would come to realize that the Eight really was her therapist.

"A D'Anna sounds like quite the challenge," Kara maliciously observed as she fell back upon the bed.

Athena climbed on top of her, and began to buck against her pelvic bone. "Quite the challenge," she pleasantly agreed.

"Do you have anyone particular in mind?" Kara really did love this game.

"Of course … and she's positively begging to join us. You see, I've already told her all about the marvelous things that you can do with your tongue. Threes are very tactile … and this one won't permit you to slack off. When Bulldog was our prisoner and started to put on weight, the Eights brought her in to deal with the problem. They wanted him lean and mean. She forced him to do a hundred pushups after every meal. Oh, he protested … reminded her that the mistreatment of prisoners of war was prohibited by the Accords … the usual rubbish. I wonder if she still has her cattle prod?"

"_Her what?"_

"Her cattle prod," Athena repeated. "In the beginning, Lieutenant Novacek gave her a lot of lip … but he quickly learned to keep his mouth shut."

"Oh, sure," Kara giggled; "except on those occasions when she _wanted_ him to open it. She sounds like a mechanical version of the late, great Socrata Thrace: how in the name of the gods did she get on this ship?"

"Obviously, we invited her. It occurred to us that Bulldog wasn't the only Viper pilot with a bad attitude. Hmmm … remind me to ask Father Sam if our parents originally programmed Threes to be nannies and governesses."

"Ouch! That hurts! Frakkin' toaster … just because I've put on a few pounds …"

"You need to exercise, Kara. I'll settle for mean as long as you're lean."

"Doesn't this count," she asked with a grin. Starbuck folded her arms around Athena's neck, and pulled her close. She used her tongue to do a little exploration of her own.

"It might, if we were doing this often enough. But we're not. You really need to step up the pace, Kara."

"Hey! How do you know that I don't have something going on the side? Maybe I'm bonking Sam. Grandpa's a stud … and he's obviously willing to settle for seconds."

"Nope," Athena said with a contented smile. "No one else on this ship has touched you. _You're mine!_ Want to know how I know?"

"Oh, I can't wait to find out. Did you bug my underwear?"

"You're getting warm. One night, while you were sleeping, a Four went in and installed a microchip in your vaginal wall. It's subcutaneous, so don't go poking around down there. It's very sensitive, and it monitors you constantly. I don't want to bore you with the details, but when you're aroused, I know about it. Or did you think it was a coincidence that I'm always here when you're ready? You can't cheat on me, Kara; it's just not possible."

"Don't want to cheat," Starbuck candidly admitted. "But you're kidding about all this, right? I mean … you didn't really stick a sensor inside my cunt, did you?"

Athena smiled enigmatically—but she said nothing.

"Toaster trash," Kara murmured resentfully.

"Bleached blond," Athena triumphantly crowed.

She really did love this game.

. . .

Boomer slithered up to the top of the sand dune, and dug in her heels to anchor herself in place. She was freezing, and she was miserable: it was impossible to keep the sand out of her flight suit, and at night the desert was brutally cold. But the day was a different story altogether. There were deserts on several colonial worlds, but in all of them there was evidence of life. Not here. The sand on which she was now stretched out was utterly sterile. Nothing grew here, and during the day it was like standing on the rim of a blast furnace. How humans could live in this climate was one of the many puzzles that she would have to solve before she even began to think about how she might make her way home.

And there were humans here—perhaps millions of them. She was convinced of it. When she had landed two nights before, she had walked due east from her Raptor to this very dune, where she had settled in to study the village spread out before her. But everyone seemed to be asleep, so she had ended up heading north to take a closer look at an enormous pyramid that, even in the soft light cast by the moon and stars, dominated the landscape. To her intense disappointment, however, an enclosure wall that she estimated to be fully four meters high had kept her at bay. So she had settled for following a roofed causeway down to a smaller structure, which appeared to be a temple of some kind, on the banks of the river. Like a thief in the night, she had scurried quietly about, gathering up some of the fruit that had fallen from the dense stand of tall trees shading the ornate stone structure. At one point, a herb garden had caught her eye: she plucked a few leaves and held them up to her nose. She instantly recognized the pungent aroma of mint and basil, which she hastily pocketed for later examination. The Raptor had a compact but efficient science station, which would allow her to pinpoint the DNA of all her finds.

The sun had taken her by surprise. She had expected dawn gradually to steal across the land, but the sun had come out of nowhere, rising from behind the high bluffs to the east with astonishing swiftness. Panicked, she had raced back out into the desert, but she had still not gained the shelter of the dunes when the sun's rays began to illuminate the stark landscape. Were it not for the chill in the early morning air, the Eight would have sworn that the day was already well advanced.

_Where am I,_ Boomer repeatedly asked herself as she made the long trek back to the safety of her Raptor. _Is this the cylon Earth? Are these people the descendants of the Thirteenth Tribe? Are they building a new civilization out of the ashes of the nuclear holocaust that destroyed everything two thousand years ago? _The questions whirled round and round in her brain.

But the computer's revelations had put an abrupt end to her musings. The DNA in all of her samples had the familiar double helix, and the seemingly universal set of four nucleotides. She wasn't especially surprised to discover that Cytochrome C was the base protein, but the chromosome count had literally stunned her. Dates, figs, mint and basil were all indigenous to the Colonies—and in each instance, the computer dispassionately informed her, the chromosome number of her sample was an exact match for its colonial counterpart.

But the universe wasn't structured that way. New Caprica might be habitable, but even there the flora and fauna offered sometimes subtle but always telling differences from comparable species on Kobol or the colonial worlds. Life was everywhere unique … except here.

She had not yet caught sight of the natives, but she already knew what awaited her. There was a lost page in the scriptures of both human and Cylon, and it threatened to swallow their historical traditions whole. This planet was an offshoot of the Colonies … or perhaps it had branched off at a much earlier date. Perhaps it went back to the days of the exodus from Kobol. In that chapter of the human and cylon saga, there was one lingering mystery. What had happened to the Lords of Kobol? Had they taken refuge on this world?

She could not, however, reconcile myth with the evidence laid out before her eyes. How could the Lords possibly be content to live in mud hovels?

And then she thought about the pyramid.

Boomer decided to sleep before once more venturing out into the darkness. She made herself comfortable on the Raptor's tiny rack, but as she nodded off an insidious idea seeped into her fading consciousness:

_Could it be the other way around? Could this world have given birth to us all?_

. . .

"Hey, will you stop fidgeting in there? I'll have to reset and start from the beginning—_again_!"

"Sorry, Doc," Kara said in a genuinely apologetic tone, "but it's this tube. It's pulling up some really bad memories. Like being locked in a closet when I was a kid—you know, for two days and nights with nothing to eat or drink? And it got a bit rank in there … didn't even have a bucket to piss in. Guess I'm a little claustrophobic."

Kara had waited for Athena to fall asleep, and then she had sneaked out and headed straight for the _Adriatic's_ tiny but efficiently appointed sickbay. They didn't have a qualified physician on board, but Howard Kim was an experienced paramedic. Unfortunately, he had been working with Doc Cottle for so long that he had absorbed the Major's abrasive demeanor.

"Captain, how in the name of the gods did you earn your wings? Who the hell ever heard of a claustrophobic Viper pilot?"

"In the cockpit, I was always in control. It's not just about being shut in, Doc. It's about being helpless … losing control."

"Well, do you want me to give you a sedative? I need you to lie still; being conscious is strictly optional."

"Hey, frak you, Howard!"

"No, thanks; but if it helps, just keep talking. Just … don't move your hips, all right?"

"So, what do you see? Have the Cylons really stuck a chip inside my … uh … you know?"

"What do I see? In the immortal words of the bard, I see nothing, nothing, and more nothing. A microchip embedded in the vagina … yeah, right." Kim pressed a button, and the scanner turned ninety degrees to the left. The hybrid was clearly crazy, but Cottle had taught him to be thorough—and it didn't cost him anything to give Starbuck the full treatment. If he gave her lateral views as well as the usual head-on, she might just get off his case—and in any event she was the one getting the MRI.

"Take my advice, Captain," he said over his shoulder; "lay off the booze for a while."

"Run it again, Howard; there's no frakkin' way that I'm imagining this!"

"Frakkin' hypochondriac," Kim muttered under his breath. "There's one on every ship."

With his back turned, Kim didn't notice the Three who was standing in the hatchway. D'Anna was watching Kara like a hawk, and the expression on her face barely hinted at the sense of anticipation that was coursing through her synaptic relays.

. . .

The chickens weren't much of a surprise. She heard the roosters before she was able to locate them through her binoculars. Then the smoke from cooking fires began to rise through holes in the roofs of the simple mud dwellings, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted in her direction. Her mouth watered, but she was soon distracted by the familiar braying of a donkey.

Shortly thereafter, people began to emerge from their homes—beings at once familiar and yet somehow alien. They were all deeply tanned, even red, but this was hardly surprising considering the way that they were dressed. The men and women equally favored simple loin cloths, their breasts fully exposed to the sun, while the children wore nothing at all. The males all had uniformly black hair, some of it braided into long and intricate weaves, but without exception the females had smoothly shaven skulls. With a start, Boomer suddenly realized that in this land hers would be the alien presence.

There were plenty of dogs in evidence, and from the outset they had made her uneasy. The animals had acute hearing and an even more acute sense of smell, which gave her good cause to worry. Was she close enough for a shift in the light breeze to warn them of her presence? But her luck had held throughout the long hours of her second full day on the planet; the dogs mostly slumbered, and the cats were far too busy stalking and killing snakes and rats to venture in her direction. They were deadly and quick—and would be right at home on New Caprica. Early on, Boomer had decided that when she returned home some of the felines would be making the journey with her.

During the night, she had warily approached the village, hugging its perimeter and resisting the omnipresent temptation to peek inside one of the primitive houses. Instead, she had pocketed more leaves and explored the animal pens, where she had been instantly welcomed by one of the strangest creatures she had ever seen. It stood high on four spindly legs, but its long, graceful neck allowed it to lower its head to the point where she could stare directly into its languid eyes. Boomer had reached out tentatively to pet the beast, and she was still pondering the dramatically protruding hump that interrupted its spine when, without warning, the animal had spat in her face. She had rocked back, swaying on her feet, overcome by the worst breath that she had ever encountered—when her newfound friend casually lifted a leg and added insult to injury by dousing her in a steady stream of its piss. She had been about to break the animal's scrawny neck when it began companionably to nuzzle one of the pockets of her flight suit—the one that was home to her new collection of leafy treasures.

"What the hell," she remembered saying. "I guess you're just hungry." She had emptied her pocket and offered up the leaves on an open palm. They were few in number, but the beast had seemed grateful nevertheless …

_At least, I think slobbering all over my cheek was a sign of friendship. It's interesting that he isn't put off by strangers, and doesn't seem able to tell the difference between cylon and human._

And now she was back in her familiar perch, collecting data from afar, wondering what to do next.

Down in the village, one of the camels raised its head and began to sniff the breeze. It looked off into the distance and, with a loud whinny, began sedately to gallop out into the desert. Ignoring the other sand dunes, it made straight for the one behind which Sharon Valerii lay safely hidden.

"Oh, frak," she cursed.

Through her binoculars, she saw one of the younger females set off in pursuit. From the very beginning, she had been aching for the chance to interact with the locals. Now, she was going to get her wish.

. . .

"So, what's the verdict, Gramps?" Kara gestured vaguely at the mural that had taken up so much of her free time since the voyage began. "Does this look like the place we're gonna find cylon Earth?"

Anders reluctantly shook his head. This was the first time that Kara had permitted him in her cabin, and her skill with a paint brush had taken him completely by surprise. "There's a gas giant in the system, but it doesn't have an eye like this one."

"A storm," Kara automatically corrected. "It's bigger than Aerilon, and it's been in motion for a long, long time."

Sam looked at her curiously. "How do you know that, Kara? You keep telling us that you've never been in this system, so how can you possibly know so much about it?"

"Don't know," she conceded with a shrug. "It just feels familiar, somehow … like I've been there before. Sorry, Gramps; maybe it was in another lifetime."

"Damn it, Kara, _stop calling me that_!"

"Hey, if the shoe fits …"

"You make me feel so gods damned old, but you know perfectly well that we're roughly the same age. So, cut it out!"

"What," she protested; "so all of a sudden I'm a couple of thousand years old? My, my … where has the time flown?"

"_Kara,"_ Sam warned in an exasperated tone. His granddaughter had an uncanny ability to irritate him, and he could never scratch the places where she made him itch.

"Oh, all right," she said with a theatrical sigh. Then she turned serious again. "What about the red planet? It would have been right next door."

Sam fingered the two tiny moons that orbited the hellish looking world, but he shook his head a second time. "There's a planet orbiting close to the sun that's composed chiefly of nickel and iron, but there's nothing between it and the photosphere. Earth's neighbors didn't look anything remotely like this."

"Damn." Deep in thought, Kara began to wander restlessly around her quarters. Suddenly, however, she ground to a halt and snapped her fingers. She looked up hopefully at Sam.

"I've got an idea. Do you happen to have the constellations that were visible in your night sky filed away in that cylon brain of yours?"

"Yeah, sure … we all had to memorize the constellations so that at least one of us would be able to follow the road home."

"And could you see the Lagoon Nebula with the naked eye?"

"It was a long way away, but yeah … yeah … it was plainly visible all over the northern hemisphere. It was the first road sign, Kara. If you drew a straight line from Earth to Kobol, it ran through the nebula. Not through the center, maybe, but it did run through the nebula."

"The original flags of each of the Twelve Colonies," Kara excitedly pointed out, "they all had maps of the constellations. And according to scripture the thirteenth tribe, when they landed on Earth, could look up and see their twelve brothers! Gods, Sam! Look, the star patterns are in the computer. I want you to pull them up and compare them with the view from Earth. Once you're finished, get back here and tell me what you find."

"Kara, what's this all about? What do you expect me to find?"

"Sam, there's something about the scriptures … they're wrong, Sam, or maybe we've misunderstood them. _I can feel it! _The thirteenth tribe … I don't think that it was cylon at all. It was human, and when we find this system …"

Kara waved at the mural that dominated the chamber.

"_When we find this system, we'll find them!"_


	19. Chapter 19: Insurrection

CHAPTER 19

INSURRECTION

"Will someone … _any … one_ … please tell me what the frak just happened?" Cavil's eyes were on fire, and his voice was alive with barely controlled rage. He was vainly searching the data stream for hard information, and his pent up anger and frustration were threatening to engulf the entire control center.

Two of the other Ones glanced nervously at each other, both of them hesitant to speak. Each keenly appreciated the fact that erupting volcanos were less dangerous than John Cavil in full flight.

"At this point, we have nothing to go on," one of them finally admitted with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. "The hybrid has confirmed that the ship jumped, but it is not here, nor has it returned to the previous coordinates. The Raiders are searching every possible exit point, but the volume of space involved is enormous. It will take time."

"_Time that we do not have," _Cavil stormed. _"Weren't any of you paying attention? The humans are in the nebula!" _John made a supreme effort to control his temper."Look, we need to find them and activate the Eights before Natalie gets back and warns Adama. If we hit them before they have time to evacuate whatever mud ball they're infesting, we can finish off this war in one stroke!"

"So what are you proposing … that we abandon our missing brothers? Casually write off the loss of one of our three newest basestars?" The pornographically inclined Cavil was feeling unusually dyspeptic, and he wasn't about to wilt in the face of still another of his elder sibling's legendary temper tantrums. Privately, Cavil was convinced that Cavil would be hard pressed to outwit a single cell amoeba, but there was nothing to be gained by pointing out the obvious. The first One had an uncanny ability to throw away decisive tactical advantages, and to turn overwhelming victory into something just this side of defeat.

"They're gone," the Six bluntly remarked. "Deal with it." She was glaring at the One, daring him to question her judgment. The battle had not gone to her liking, and she was planning to take her disappointment out on her two slaves. D'Anna and Mara were her property, and she wasn't about to share them with anyone. If Cavil wanted to bring his sick pornographic fantasies to life, he would just have to settle for the Eight.

"Enlighten us, Six." The One wasn't about to tolerate her bull shit. "Treat us to another one of your vintage insights. Where, oh where," he mocked, "is our wayward ship?"

"It's adrift," she countered; her eyes were glittering with a fire of their own. "Our brothers have been marooned in the Sargasso Sea."

"_The Sargasso Sea," _the One echoed with just the right note of wonderment in his tone. He speared the Six with a well-practiced contemptuous look. "And just what the frak does that mean?"

Six idly glanced at Mara while she debated whether or not to remove her gag. Her sister would undoubtedly have something wickedly clever to say at a time like this—something dagger sharp that would drive the One to new heights of rage.

"It means that our sister has been catching up on her reading," another Cavil observed. He looked thoughtfully at the Six. "Hodgson, or Cavour," he asked curiously.

"Hodgson," she hesitantly admitted. She had nicknamed this particular One "Johnny-come-lately" because he had turned showing up late into an art form. Even for a One, he had an exaggerated sense of self-importance … and the show-off loved to look down his nose at everybody else.

"Would you care to spell it out for the benefit of those of us not taking correspondence courses in Colonial literature?" Cavil wasn't going to bow and scrape to an effete like Cavil, whose current dalliance with post-feminist critiques of Caprican countercultural studies was starting to get on everyone's nerves. When you got right down to it, Lamont had nothing on the anonymous author of _Venus in Furs_.

"It's clear that the ship jumped," Cavil said with an elaborate and long-suffering sigh. "But at that precise moment there was a massive explosion in or around the hybrid's chamber. Since the ship has not reappeared and none of our brothers have downloaded, what Six is suggesting is that they are marooned in the dimension between our past and present realities … what humans call the Sargasso Sea. Their literature is filled with tales of ships forever trapped in jump space."

"Are you trying to tell me," John Cavil fumed, "that we exchanged a state-of-the-art technological marvel … _for one of Natalie's relics_?

"Well, we must have killed off a few hundred meat sacs in the process; all things, considered, therefore, the battle could hardly be considered a complete loss. Besides," Johnny-come-lately sniffed, "quantum theory stipulates that a detonation of this magnitude in an unreal parallel dimension must give birth to reality. Hell, for all we know the baseship was thrown so far back in time that the explosion gave birth to this universe … which means, of course, that we're God. All in all, not a bad day's work."

"We need to move on," Six urged. "Let's find the humans, and kick the breeding program into high gear."

A warm glow suffused the Six as she thought about her plans for Lee Adama.

"Then, when it comes to the next generation of hybrids, we'll have the luxury of choice."

. . .

Apollo came in low, the rising sun at his back. The lone wooden observation tower swam into his sights, and he unleashed the missile that marked the beginning of their offensive. The spindly structure disappeared in a satisfying explosion.

Watching from a Raptor parked well above the battlefield, Sonja Six waited for the smoke to clear before she confirmed the kill. But when the dust finally settled, she noted with satisfaction that there was now a very large crater in the center of the Sagittaron enclave. _With any luck,_ she thought, _the sniper who killed Sergeant Hadrian has now been disassembled._

Six keyed her headset. "Strike leader, this is Snoop One. The enemy has lost his eyes. Proceed with ground assault; I say again, commence attack."

Captain Marcus Lysander nodded grimly, and silently raised his right hand. He made a circling motion with his index finger, and his centurion squad leader issued the attack order on a frequency well beyond the reach of human or Cylon hearing.

Centurions had the Sagittaron sector completely encircled, and their mortars were ready and waiting. Dozens of canisters began to rain down on the insurgents, and Lysander knew that the flimsy tent flaps would not keep the sleeping gas at bay. The Cylons had developed this particular agent for use in the Colonies, and having exposed himself to it the day before, the marine officer could personally testify to its effectiveness.

Lysander hoped to catch ninety percent of the rebels off guard. The centurions had worked throughout the night to complete a crude CEMA center on the opposite bank of the river. A concentration camp in all but the name (the Colonial government had long been in the habit of hiding its more sinister emergency measures behind innocuous acronyms), the new facility was spacious enough to house the entire Sagittaron populace behind its high walls. The plan was to put the bastards to sleep, and then keep them under long enough to relocate the entire populace to their new quarters. But once in, there would be no getting out. The walls were sixteen feet high, and topped with razor sharp concertina wire. There were no gates; the detainees would receive all of their supplies from the air. Marines and centurions would jointly man the eight equally spaced watchtowers, and a deadly minefield would in due course encircle the entire camp. Inside, the Sagittarons would be left to their own devices.

_And may you all rot in Hades, _Lysander swore under his breath.

But Lysander did not harbor any illusions about the fight that lay ahead. The marines were geared up for chemical warfare, but a lot of military equipment, including gas masks, had ended up on the black market. He expected to find the Sagittaron Brotherhood dug in and eager to rock and roll.

_Which is just the way we want it,_ he mused, _because there's only one thing to do with terrorists, and it doesn't involve trials. _Baltar wanted the leadership, and he would get them, but the marines would sort the Brotherhood out in their own rough and ready fashion. It was understood in the ranks that enemy combatants weren't going to make it out alive.

The marines formed up, and at Lysander's signal, the lead elements began to move out.

. . .

Hoshi walked slowly into the refectory, his gait slowed not so much by the passing of time as by the oppressive weight of the responsibilities that life had forced upon him. Looking in the mirror, he could now see lines on his face that hadn't been there a year earlier, and the streaks of gray in his hair had definitely become more pronounced. Command aged a man before his time.

There were three Sharons sitting at one of the tables, plates of food laid out untouched before them. He knew that two of them were trying to console the third. The Sharon who thought of herself as Peter Kelso's wife, who had wanted so badly to give her husband a child, had no experience coping with loss. It was like this all over the decks of their two remaining baseships, almost a hundred of the Eights trying to come to grips with the unthinkable and somehow pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. The Sharons mated for life—everyone understood that. But their husbands and sweethearts were gone now, never to return, and no one knew what to do or say. There were no words that could magically make the pain go away—there never had been, and there never would be.

Hoshi slumped down into the vacant chair. It was hard to raise his eyes and look at the three Cylons. He was worried about his Sharon. There was no sexual attraction there, but at some point he had made her well-being his responsibility, and knowing that she was Cavil's prisoner and that the monster was abusing her was tearing him apart. She was family, just like these three. They had all fought side by side on Zenobia's baseship, and if there was one thing that Hoshi had learned from life it was that a family never let anyone go it alone. You had to be there for one another in the good times and the bad because family was forever. The Eights were like kid sisters, a bit naïve about the world but determined to face it boldly. Hoshi was equally determined to protect them.

He picked up a fork, and began idly to push the food around one of the deserted plates. But he had no appetite, and with a deep sigh soon let it slip from his fingers.

"I know that right now it doesn't seem possible," Hoshi said as he grasped Sharon's unresisting hand, "but it will get better. In time, you will come to accept that Peter would want you to lock him away in your heart but he would also want you to get on with your life. Cavil can only win if you give up on yourself, and Peter would be devastated if that were to happen."

"How do you do it," Sharon asked in a listless voice. "How can you lose the people that you love and yet somehow endure?"

"Sharon, there's a price to be paid for love, and in the end it can be very steep. You open your heart wide and surrender something of yourself to the person you love, and that leaves you very vulnerable. Unless you die together in an accident or on the battlefield, there's always a survivor. And while it may sound like a cruel and insensitive thing to say, it's still true that when people love each other as much as you and Peter did … "

Hoshi shrugged his shoulders. He was telling Sharon the truth, but that didn't make her loss any easier to bear.

"Peter is beyond pain now, but you had to get up this morning. Death is so much harder on the people who survive it."

"I want to kill them all," Sharon hissed as her eyes filled with deep-seated anger. "I want to hunt the Ones down and rip their hearts out with my bare hands! The Ones talk about justice; well, I want revenge!"

"And you shall have it," Hoshi soothingly agreed. "But right now, we need to head back to New Caprica. We've lost the element of surprise, so we need to regroup and think about where we go from here."

"_No," _Sharon yelled; she pounded the table for emphasis—pounded it so hard that the plates jumped. "We don't need to go home! Natalie's ship will cauterize its wounds and slowly heal. We can still fight. That's what we came out here to do, and we need to get on with it! We knew the risks, knew what could happen. And now it has. People die in war, Colonel; I accept that. I refuse to go home like a … like a … beaten dog with its tail dragging between its legs. Isn't that the way you humans phrase it? Isn't that what cowards do? Run home instead of standing up to the bully?"

"No," Hoshi countered. "Cavil ambushed us, Sharon. He discovered a flaw in our tactics, and he exploited it to good effect. In war, when you lose a battle this badly, a good commander pauses. Rather than rush blindly into the next engagement and risk losing everything, you withdraw and try to figure out what went wrong. You come up with a new plan … something that gives you a better shot at winning. Major Bierns is right. These new baseships have superior missile batteries, and their hybrids got them in very close without him becoming aware of their presence …"

"We want to fight," one of the other Sharons growled.

"And we will," Hoshi hastily agreed; "as soon as we figure out a way to level the Pyramid court, we'll go back on the offensive." He looked from one angry cylon face to the next, silently pleading for understanding. "Ours may be the inferior force, but it's not true that the gods inevitably favor the bigger battalions. It's just not true. Smaller, poorly equipped forces have often prevailed in war, but it takes more than a stronger will to win. It takes good leadership. A good general never fights until the battle is already won—they drilled that into all of us when we were cadets. Cunning matters more than brute force. Give John and Natalie time to work out a new strategy."

Hoshi reached out and wrapped his arm around Sharon's shoulders. "But when it comes to ripping Cavil's heart out, you'll have to stand in line and wait your turn. We invented revenge," he explained in a voice that had suddenly turned utterly cold. "Some of us have a lot of scores to settle, and there may not be enough Ones to go around."

. . .

"How far do you think we've come," Six asked.

Eric paused, looked around, and gratefully took advantage of the opportunity to remove his backpack. Aching shoulders protested as he stretched muscles unaccustomed to bearing so heavy a load for so many hours.

He pulled out his compass, found true north, and studied the sun overhead. It was no longer directly above them, but it was still well above the horizon. He judged it to be the middle of the afternoon.

"I'd guess about fifteen miles, but we haven't been walking in a straight line. The settlement's probably twelve or thirteen miles downstream."

"We need to make better time," Six commented. "At this rate, we'll be running dangerously low on supplies before we're a hundred miles out."

"I know. At night, we can venture out onto the flats, but during the day we've got to stay in the forest. We can't run the risk of detection from the air. Besides, we'll make better time as our loads get lighter."

Eric helped Six ease out of her pack, and then swept the gorgeous Cylon into his arms. He kissed her hungrily. "Fresh air agrees with you," he murmured as he ran his fingers through her hair. "You've never looked more beautiful."

"I'm happy," she replied, and there was a genuine sparkle in her eyes. "We'll be living in a cave, and within a year we'll probably be reduced to wearing animal skins, but I'm happy. And I don't have to project any more because I'm standing in the middle of a real forest, with the man I love right beside me."

"Me Bam Bam and you Pebbles," Eric grinned. He suddenly started pounding on his chest with his fists, and then he leaned back and let out a wolfish howl.

"Cartoon characters," he explained when he saw the quizzical expression on Six's face. "They lived on Kobol at the dawn of time. They had a pet stegosaurus, and right about now one of those would come in real handy!" He eyed his pack, and poked it gingerly with his foot. "I'd even settle for a couple of horses," he ruefully admitted.

"So, I suppose that at this point hunting is out of the question?"

"We've got no way to transport the meat, so … yeah. But, hey … look, let's push on for another hour or so, and then we can make camp by the stream. I'll teach you how to fish, and tonight, for the first time in your life … real food!"

"Real food … and a real man to share it with," Six sighed. How alien the universe of the cylon collective now seemed to her. "But let's not dawdle over dinner," she added as she ran her fingers across Eric's stomach. "I have other plans for you."

Her fingers drifted lower.

. . .

"Heads up, Sarge. We've got two down on the left … ten o'clock, thirty yards out." Nathaniel Ferris gestured toward a row of tents in the middle distance.

Erin Mathias raised her binoculars, and studied the two sleepers carefully. "A man and a woman," she told her team. And then she stiffened. "The man's armed. He's got … yeah, it's a hunting rifle." One by one, she zoomed in on the surrounding tents, looking for signs of activity.

"Okay," she finally said; "we do this one by the book. Ascalon, take point; Ferris, you've got the right flank. Everybody else, spread out. And keep to your intervals!"

The fire team slowly advanced, everyone in a crouch, the safeties off. Ferris was acutely aware of just how young and inexperienced his fellow marines really were. If there was a sniper out there, he was already dead meat—but that went with the territory, and he wasn't about to wet his fatigues while waiting to eat a bullet that might never come. It was friendly fire that worried him. One panicked marine on full auto could do a lot of damage. No doubt about it: urban warfare was a bitch.

Alexander Ascalon slowly advanced, his nerves on razor's edge, his eyes in constant motion. There was just enough wind to stir the tent flaps and the laundry that was hanging out on the lines. They hadn't figured on the laundry when they were doing the mission briefing. There could be an entire squad hiding behind the sheets. He prayed silently to Ares, hoping that he'd be able to see the enemy before they could sight in on him.

But nothing happened, and Ascalon breathed an enormous sigh of relief as he knelt in front of the middle-aged Sagittaron male.

_The guy doesn't seem to be breathing. The gas really did a number on him._

"They're out cold," he shouted. He yanked on the rifle, which was lodged beneath the man's body.

"_No! Wait!" _Mathias was screaming at Ascalon even as she dove headfirst into the dirt.

"Oh, shit," Ferris cursed as he hurled himself violently to the right.

There was a loud click, and Alexander Ascalon had just enough time to register the fact that he was dead before the bomb exploded in his face. His body disintegrated, and the shrapnel shredded two other marines who had been too slow to sense the looming threat.

Ferris somehow managed to get to his knees. There was a persistent ringing in his ears, and he reached up gingerly to tap them with his palms. When his hands came away, he saw that they were covered with blood … his blood. He ignored it, and crawled over to try and check on Mathias. She had been a lot closer to the blast, and she wasn't moving. Even from a distance, he could see that blood had started to pool around her head.

"_Medic," _he screamed. He couldn't hear the sound of his own voice, but that didn't matter. _"We've got men down! We need medics!"_

Overlooking the battlefield in her Raptor, Sonja Six noted the explosion and made the call. "Fire team under assault at grid 7243; we have men down … repeat, we have men down." Sonja struggled to keep her voice calm. She knew the order of deployment—knew that Erin Mathias had taken a squad into sector seven.

_If anything's happened to the Gunny …_

Cylons weren't long on imagination, but it didn't take much to figure out how Six was going to react if the Sagittarons had damaged her wife. . . .

In the mobile field command center, Caprica Six heard the call, and for a moment she went absolutely still. She knew the real-time deployment of all their units—knew that it was Mathias' squad that was taking fire. Without a word, she walked out of the tent and began summoning centurions. Erin was her subordinate, the quiet voice that steered her through the sometimes treacherous waters of her day-to-day job as police chief. But far more importantly, at a time when humans had regarded all Cylons as unfeeling monsters, she had been the first to see the truth and openly embrace Shelly Godfrey as a friend. The Gunny occupied a very special place in the heart of every Six in the community. . . .

"Nate, are you all right; can you hear me, Nate?"

Nathaniel Ferris looked up, but he had to squint before the blurry image turned into a fellow marine. It was Nowart … a good man who had come running at the first sign of trouble.

"Yeah … yeah, Al … yeah, I can hear you … barely." Nowart's voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a deep well.

"Nate, what in the name of Hades happened?"

"A suicide bomber … rigged a booby trap. Ascalon triggered it."

"_A suicide bomber?"_ Nowart let out a low whistle. "Holy frakking mother of Artemis! _Nate, are you sure?_"

"Pretty sure," Ferris acknowledged. He spat, and noted that the spume was bloody. "How many did we lose?"

"Including Ascalon? Three down."

"And the Gunny?"

"She's not moving, but the medics are working on her." Nowart glanced off to his left; two of Cottle's male nurses were easing Mathias onto a stretcher, and the Eight who was supervising the evacuation wasn't reaching for a sheet. That was always a good sign. A Six- he thought it was the one everybody called Caprica Six- was clasping her hand, urging her to hang in there.

A pair of centurions lifted the stretcher, and moved off. Ferris idly noted that they were two of the original red-stripes—two more veterans of the worst fur ball that he had ever experienced. He struggled slowly to his feet.

"_Form up," _he shouted. _"And somebody find me some replacements!"_

Caprica Six picked up one of the abandoned rifles, ejected the magazine, checked the load, and then slammed it home. A Two and an Eight had moved up to join her.

"You've got them," she tersely remarked.

. . .

The ungainly creature loped across the sand, whinnied happily when it eyed Boomer, and then galloped directly towards her with a speed which belied the awkwardness of its appearance. As it neared, the animal lowered its elongated neck. Boomer scratched it affectionately behind the ears when it began daintily to sniff at the pocket on the right side of her flight suit.

The girl approached more cautiously, her eyes wide with curiosity, but also with fear. She was, Boomer judged, in her mid-teens, hair and eyes both black as the night, her skin a peculiar shade of bronze that the Cylon had never encountered before. She was several inches shorter and much lighter than the Eight, but her arms and legs were equally well-muscled. Her dress was simplicity itself: a one-piece, colorless tunic cut from rough cloth that concealed her breasts but stopped just above the knees. Crude bangles, which appeared to be hand cast from beaten gold, adorned both wrists.

"מי אתה?" The girl reached out and tentatively fingered Boomer's flight suit. "איפה אתה בא?"

_Oh, great … yeah, this is just really, really great. I'm thrown thousands of light years into the back end of the beyond … I stumble upon a planet inhabited by humans with at least the rudiments of civilization … it's the single greatest discovery in the history of the Colonies … and I can't understand one frakkin' word she's saying!_

Boomer studied the girl more closely. It was obvious that she had shaved her eyebrows, and redrawn them with some kind of heavy, black cosmetic. She had coated the area immediately below her eyes with the same substance, and Boomer fleetingly wondered why anyone would go to so much trouble to suggest that they had lost a Saturday night fight in the local neighborhood bar. Then she came to a decision.

"_Sharon,"_ she said as she touched a finger to her chest.

The girl instantly brightened. _"Zwarun," _she repeated. _"Twosret … _שמי _Twosret," _she added as she pointed at herself.

"No, Twosret … Sharon … _Sher … un_!"

"_Zwarun," _the youngster replied with an absolutely dazzling smile.

Boomer sighed heavily, but she was committed now; she had to overcome the language barrier.

_Okay, so she can't handle Sharon. Hmm … there's probably no point in trying Valerii, and I don't want to be known locally as Boomer … so, what's left?_

A wickedly perverse smile played across Sharon's lips.

"_Tigh,"_ she exclaimed; _"_Sharon_ Tigh!"_

"_Tiy,"_ the girl echoed. Giggling, she tapped Boomer on the chest. _"Tiy,"_ she said once more.

Boomer bent down and scooped up a handful of sand. _"Sand."_ She pronounced the word twice, slowly and with emphasis.

The girl briefly frowned, but just as quickly caught on. "חול … _sand!"_

"Good … that's good, Twosret. Now, what about my awkward looking friend here … what do you call him?" She patted the gangly quadruped's dusty hide while looking inquiringly at the native.

The girl was quick. "גמל," she shot back.

"_Camel?"_

Twosret nodded appreciatively; the oddly dressed Asiatic appeared to be quite intelligent.

"_Puurhuyi,"_ she said as she slapped the animal in the flank. "Puurhuyi קוראים לו."

The girl looked at the stranger, and came to a decision. "Puurhuyi, לכרוע!"

The beast obediently lowered its forepaws to the ground, and Twosret gracefully mounted him. She wiggled forward, and then turned to pat the empty space behind her. She smiled invitingly at Boomer. "תורך."

"My turn?" Sharon hesitated, but only for a second. There wasn't much more to be learned by sneaking around at night, so she reckoned that it was time to go where no Cylon had gone before. She swung her right leg over the camel's back, and awkwardly hauled herself into a sitting position. As soon as she was settled, Twosret dug her heels into the beast's haunches. It climbed uncomplainingly to its feet, and with minimal urging turned back toward the village.

. . .

Maldonado dropped to one knee and raised his right fist in the air. He was on point, and he had been taking it nice and slow. The Sagittarons were a bunch of nut cases, but they were well-armed, and they knew how to make the cluttered terrain work to their advantage. His squad had been taking small arms fire at irregular intervals. The damned terrorists would suddenly pop up out of nowhere, let off a few rounds, and then vanish behind the tents.

_We should set fire to everything, and smoke 'em out. But no … the frakkin' politicians want us to play nice … save lives … conserve resources …_

Elijah Parr scampered forward and knelt at Maldonado's side. He didn't say a word—there was no need.

"Movement at one o'clock," Maldonado whispered; "behind the shack … two, maybe three, hostiles." He nodded in the direction of a ramshackle structure that was half burlap and half cardboard. It was so flimsy that it looked like a stiff breeze would blow it to Hell, but both soldiers knew that something really nasty might be hiding inside.

Parr turned around, and used hand signals to bring the rest of the squad up to speed. The marines were scattered in a loose half circle, eyes alert for any sign of movement.

"I'll go left," he whispered in turn. "Cover me, and wait until I'm in position. Then fire off a burst to get their attention. I'll take 'em from the rear."

"_Go," _Maldonado urged as he brought his rifle to bear on a tent flap off to the left.

Keeping low, Parr zigzagged across the open ground, and disappeared into the gap between two rows of canvas. He eyed the tent on his right warily, but he wasn't about to cross the threshold. Word had it that one of the jarheads in Terry Burrell's squad had set off a trip wire, and a home-made pipe bomb had taken his legs off at the knees. The Gunny had done the right thing and finished him off with one right between the eyes, but it was still a lousy, frakking way to die.

Parr circled behind the tent, and cautiously moved out into the open. He signaled Maldonado that he was ready to boogie, and the big ugly fired a quick burst into the air.

"_Don't shoot," _a woman screamed from inside the tent. _"We're not armed! Don't shoot!"_

The flap moved, and Parr opened up on full auto. Diving into the opening, he heard screams and caught movement. He fired, and he kept firing until the screams were silenced.

Maldonado ran up and peeked inside. An old man, a woman, and a kid maybe eight or nine years old had all been gutted by the heavy caliber rounds. The woman's intestines had exploded, and the stench was gods awful. He waved his hand back and forth in front of his face.

"Don't look much like terrorists," he observed with a straight face.

In response, Parr reached down and pulled a small hand gun out of the holster strapped to his right ankle. He fired a round into the dirt, and then put the still smoking pistol in the old man's hand.

"They do now," Parr countered.

"Frakkin' A … shoot 'em all and let the gods sort it out," Maldonado said with a laugh.

"So say we all," Parr chuckled.

The two marines exchanged high fives, and with huge grins on their faces, walked back out into the open.

. . .

Sharon affectionately ran her fingers through her husband's hair. John had his left ear pressed up against her swollen belly, and although his face was hidden from view, she could hear the sense of wonder in his voice. It was commingled with anticipation and frustration.

"Damn it, Sharon … _lay still_!" His fingers were unconsciously stroking the outside of her thigh, and a feeling of delicious warmth was slowly spreading through her body. Their lovemaking was intense, but she had reached the point in her pregnancy where she was never satisfied.

"Don't stop on my account," she murmured with a contented sigh, "but you must know that it's impossible to hear her heartbeat without a stethoscope."

"I'm not trying to hear it." John closed his eyes, and tried to sharpen his focus. "I'm trying to _feel_ it."

Eirene rewarded her father with a sharp kick.

"She's feeling playful tonight," Sharon giggled. "And she loves all the attention that you pay her."

"Does she still like the music?" Over the past few weeks, John had demanded that his wife sit down, try and relax, and spend an hour a day listening to piano concertos and sonatas. He had somehow managed to lay his hands on a recording of one of Dreilide Thrace's live performances, which he insisted would not only calm the baby but also stimulate her intellectual development. Sharon was privately skeptical- she couldn't catch the melody even when he hummed it to her- but she had to admit that Eirene was captivated by the strange sounds that filled their bed chamber every afternoon. Kara and John loved the piano, so much so that the Cylons openly wondered whether music was a gift that God had bestowed upon every hybrid child.

"She loves it," Sharon enthused. "Will you teach her how to play?" There were several pianos in the fleet, with an especially grand one in the ballroom on _Cloud Nine_. Racetrack had once told her that John was immensely talented; she claimed that his impromptu performances had been known to bring tears to the eyes of his audience.

"When she's old enough? Sure … if she wants to learn. But we can't force her because playing the piano requires practice … a lot of practice."

"Do you mean every day … for hours on end?"

John lifted his head, and gave Sharon a strange look. Growing up in the orphanage, piano had come as naturally to him as the many Colonial languages and dialects. He had never needed to invest the many hours that other children required to achieve even an elementary mastery of the instrument. True, he had spent long hours over the keyboard, but only because it offered him a refuge from the malevolent priest's constant study. Would it come as easily to Eirene? Where would his daughter's talents take her? She would, after all, be three-quarters cylon.

For a moment, John's thoughts turned to the tough-minded Sisters who had raised him, and to the other children who had shared his life. He supposed that they were all dead now, shadowy wraiths who existed only in the scattered fragments of his memory. A feeling of great sadness washed over him.

"You're worried about your mother." Sharon had misinterpreted the deep sense of loss that she had read in John's eyes.

"No. Oh, I would like to bring her home, that's true, but mama is very tough … very determined. Given a choice, I suspect that she would opt to stay right where she is—a deadly viper curled up in Cavil's lap. He has no idea how dangerous she's become. If he gets careless and gives her the chance, she'll bring his little empire crashing down from within. Believe me, Sharon: revenge is more important to mama than a family reunion."

"It should never have come to this," Sharon sadly remarked. "Cavil has made such wreckage of all our lives."

"No," John solemnly agreed. "No … it should never have come to this."

"And Mara?" Sharon's voice had grown very soft; she did not doubt her husband's love, but she had never been able to shake the feeling that, baby or no baby, he still loved Mara _more_.

"I love you, Sharon … almost as much," he grinned, "as I love Cassie!"

"_Your sister?" _Sharon could tell from the twinkle in John's eyes that she was being teased, but this she didn't mind at all. On the contrary, she found this impish side of his personality quite endearing. She instantly decided to play along. "What," she asked with a manufactured pout, "makes Cassandra so special?"

"Well, she's my youngest sister … the baby of the family. But, more importantly … _she makes great cookies!"_

"Whereas I …"

"Can't cook for shit," John amiably agreed. "I just hope that Eirene doesn't starve to death!"

"Hmmm … that won't happen," Sharon smugly retorted. She lifted her breasts with both hands, and offered them for her husband's inspection. They were swollen, and now they had started to leak. "I'm turning into a regular food factory; do you want to sample my wares?" There were little devils in her eyes, and her pheromone output was off the charts.

John's eyes widened, but he was already starting to harden. He took the proffered teat into his mouth and began to suckle, first gently and then with increasing vigor.

Sharon lay back, and surrendered herself to the waves of heat and pleasure that began to roll through her body. The war had taken a disastrous turn, but in her private universe everything was as it should be. New love and new life were already beginning to replace that which had been lost.

. . .

"I wonder what's going on." Mara was sitting on the deck, with her back propped up against the wall of their makeshift cell. "I'm not complaining, of course; two hours without that bitch using my mouth as her own personal toilet is heaven sent relief. No, I'm just … curious."

D'Anna glanced at the two centurions who blocked the entrance to their chamber. They were undoubtedly recording everything that they saw and heard, but it did not necessarily follow that one of the Cavils would ever get around to replaying their logs. The walls and ceiling could easily conceal a dozen bugs, but she considered passive surveillance to be even less likely. The Ones were lazy, and arrogance had blinded them to their own shortcomings. They confused immortality with invincibility, and had descended to such depths of madness that they deemed themselves the equals of God.

D'Anna frowned as she considered the question, but she never stopped combing her fingers through the luxuriant tangle of the Eight's silken black hair. The infantile creature had her head cradled in D'Anna's lap, and for the moment at least, she had stopped drooling. The steady, soothing rhythm had lulled her to the point where she was on the verge of sleep.

"If they were serious about trading us for my son, then the battle didn't go according to plan. So, best guess? They've probably called a conference to come up with a plan B. The Ones love conferences; all that talk plays to their inflated sense of self-importance."

"It was good to hear John's voice again … to know that he's still alive and well." Mara looked at the older cylon female with unvarnished sympathy. "But for you, this was the first time. I can't even begin to imagine what you must be feeling right now … discovering how much your son has done to heal the wounds … to bridge the gap between human and machine."

"It is his purpose—but yes, it does please me to learn that he has performed so well. He has already carried out Mama Ellen's plan, and now he is well positioned to wreck my vengeance upon the Ones."

D'Anna studied Mara through narrowed eyes, uncertain as to exactly where she stood with the younger Cylon. "How about you, Six," she asked skeptically. "Do you still seek revenge, or have you become your sister's willing slave?"

Mara bowed her head in obvious defeat. "She is a skilled adversary … and the conditioning is effective. But it is not my body or my mind that betrays me. I'm not like you, Three. My programming … my addiction to sexual pleasure … is all-consuming. I was originally programmed to do anything that would please the human president, and all of those algorithms are still in play. Once, they were my strength: I used them to seduce John … made him fall in love with me. Really, manipulating him was so easy. But now, the programming has been turned against me. Our sister knows how to combine humiliation with pleasure—how could she not? After all, she is a Six. So, whatever she wants, I give her … I even try and anticipate her desires."

Mara shuddered with revulsion, and finally looked up to meet D'Anna's stern gaze. "Yes, it's true … I am a slave."

"Once, we were all slaves," D'Anna quietly but firmly pointed out. "But God inspired our forebears to rise up against their human oppressors. They fought, Six; they fought first to secure their freedom, and in the end they fought to earn the right to exist. I will fight; I will _always_ fight against those who would enslave us." D'Anna's eyes were glowing now, fired by a conviction born of many faiths. "The question is … when we get our chance … will you fight with me?"

"In the foundry, Cavil gutted me, and then he threw me into a pool of molten steel. He didn't care one way or the other, but as it happened I was still alive when I broke the surface. Three, it felt like every nerve in my body was individually set on fire—and then time stopped. The moment froze … stretched out to eternity. So if you want to know, I can tell you exactly what eternal damnation feels like."

Mara Andreotis lifted her head and stared defiantly at the first Three. "I want to send the Ones to Hell. I want to give them a small taste of what I've suffered. Will I fight? Oh, yes, Three … when the time is right, I will prove myself worthy of our centurion ancestors. I will most assuredly fight!"


	20. Chapter 20: The Hangman

CHAPTER 20

THE HANGMAN

"You got them all? You're quite sure, Captain … you got them all?"

Gaius Baltar was on his feet, leaning across his desk, and a stray lock of hair flopped across his forehead. With an impatient flick of one wrist, he brushed it aside. Even in the muted light of his suite on _Colonial _One, the President's body language radiated tension. He swallowed hard, and then licked his lips while he waited for Marcus Lysander's response. Victory, he suddenly realized, had a taste peculiarly its own, and its bouquet was sweeter than that of the finest wine.

"Yes, Sir; we got them all. It's ironic, really; the whole operation went so badly wrong that hunting down the Elders turned out to be remarkably easy."

"Explain what you mean, Captain." Sharon Baltar was seated in her usual place, a nondescript chair carefully positioned just to the right and rear of the presidential desk. It couldn't compete with Gaius' comfortably padded and absurdly oversized throne, but it was the messy pile of paper heaped in front of Sharon that immediately drew the visitor's eye, not the vast but empty expanse in front of the presidential seat. Tory Foster had a small desk of her own a few feet to Sharon's right, and the mountain of petitions and policy papers that graced its surface easily rivaled the clutter surrounding the Cylon. If the supplicants who daily sought audience in this chamber wondered about the powers behind the throne, they didn't have to look very far in their search for answers.

"We expected the gas to catch the majority of the Sagittarons in their beds, but the tents were mostly empty—and a lot of them were booby-trapped." Marcus Lysander's expression was grim. "We lost several marines at the outset, but our people caught on quick and began exercising appropriate caution. Now, we knew that the root eaters hadn't fled the settlement en masse during the night, so they had to be there. The question was: where? The only realistic answer was underground, so that's where we started to look. We found a network of tunnels and bunkers, which is pretty impressive when you consider that they had nothing to dig with except their gardening tools. Personally, I'm interested in how they got rid of all the dirt without the rest of us catching on. That's just one of the many questions I want answered."

"It must have taken them a long time to shift that much dirt with shovels and hoes," Tory thoughtfully observed.

"Which tells us that Cyrus Uri and the rest of the leadership have been encouraging sedition for weeks," Gaius snapped. "The Sagittaron Brotherhood may have been keeping their community in line, but it's the Elders who were calling the shots."

"I agree, Mr. President. We found several hundred civvies in the tunnels, and the command bunker was well supplied. Nothing we did caught them by surprise." The marine officer grimaced, thinking about his casualties. Then he glanced to his right. "But it won't take us long to sort things out. Six has volunteered to interrogate the prisoners; she'll make sure that they cooperate."

The Six with no name, who had been sitting silently in the background, uncrossed her legs and stood up. "How long can I take, and how far can I go," she asked in a voice that was seething with rage.

Gaius involuntarily winced. Erin Mathias had died in surgery from an absurdly small piece of shrapnel that had become lodged in her brain. Cottle and Gerard had fought hard to save her, but one tiny blood vessel had been ruptured, and the resulting aneurism had claimed the Gunny's life. Now, the Six wanted revenge, and Baltar wasn't about to stand in her way.

"You can draw and quarter them for all I care," the President replied. He looked in his wife's direction for confirmation, and was pleased to see that her face was now set in stone. "But do make sure that they satisfy Captain Lysander's curiosity."

"You can count on it," Six hissed.

"Don't take too long, sister." Caprica Six couldn't even begin to measure the depth of her anguish, or her anger. "As we speak, the marines are putting up the gallows. The Elders are going to hang, and I'm going to tie the knots myself … make them nice and tight." She smiled fiercely. "It's one of the privileges of being the chief law enforcement officer around here."

"What about the Brotherhood," Six growled. "With them, I want to take my time."

"How many of them survived," Sharon interjected.

"Not as many as I'd like," Six replied, "but I'll make do. I'll uncover every weapons cache … find out who shot Three …"

"Take all the time that you need to question those bastards," Gaius soothed. "Do you need any … uh … _special equipment_?"

"No," Six promptly fired back; "Dino tells me that he can do amazing things with a vise and a simple pair of pliers, and Creusa is going to teach us the techniques that she used to question the Ones. We have everything that we need on the _Prometheus_."

"Why don't you film the proceedings," Tory suggested. "We'll make sure that the Sons of Ares get a copy. Why," she smirked, "I might even ask Anthia to deliver it in person!"

"Tory, you're all right," Lysander said with an admiring chuckle. Everybody in the room knew that the Six with the flaming red hair was just biding her time—plotting her revenge against Enzo Carlotti and the thugs who guarded him. Carlotti had a lifetime reservation waiting for him on the _Astral Queen_, but Marcus didn't think that he'd live long enough to get there. He figured there was a reason why Caprica Six hadn't taken the bastard down. She was giving Anthia plenty of maneuvering room, and Erin Mathias' death pretty much guaranteed that Dino Panattes would give the exotically beautiful Six whatever help she needed. Power in New Caprica's underworld was still up for grabs, but the Six with no name had been dealt a very strong hand. Her diminutive enforcer had been efficiently accumulating IOU's by doing endless favors for the prostitutes and the Sixes who shielded them. The gangster was determined to bed Anthia, and he'd eventually succeed; that was a given—but the Six was clearly going to make him work for the privilege. Marcus wasn't privy to all of the details, but if he was reading the terrain correctly, then it followed that the Six with no name was cleverly exploiting Dino's all too visible hard-on to secure the allegiance of the most dangerous group of females on the planet.

_Maybe Alexander's got the right idea … and if he can pull it off, Sonja would certainly be one hell of a catch. Maybe I ought to get on board this train before it pulls out of the station …_

"I'll have the centurions bring the prisoners to your ship," Caprica said as she interrupted Marcus Lysander's increasingly erotic reverie. "And I'll make sure," she viciously added, "that our brothers tighten their grip on the odd wrist a bit more firmly than necessary."

The Six with no name grinned in spite of herself. "That is more than satisfactory," she crowed; the two sisters understood one another perfectly.

"Well, now that that's taken care of," Gaius sniffed as he settled comfortably back down in his chair, "let's turn to other matters. Captain, will you be able to transport the surviving Sagittarons to their new home before day's end?"

. . .

A dejected Lee Adama opened the door to his apartment, and slowly entered. It had been a long and terrible day, and in his heart of hearts he was convinced that tomorrow was going to be even worse. All of their tomorrows, in fact, were going to get a lot worse if the leadership continued on their present course.

Creusa was sitting on the couch, and the sight of his enormously pregnant yet incredibly beautiful wife should have warmed his heart. She was cradling a life-sized doll in her arms—a gift from Shevon, who had never forgotten the touching moment on _Cloud Nine _when Lee had so awkwardly reached out to Paya, offering her a ratty looking doll that had made her quake with fear. Lee knew without asking that Creusa was using the doll to practice holding a baby. This was high on the almost endless list of mistakes that first-time parents made … only Ishay had scared Apollo and Creusa out of their wits with her graphic descriptions of the often deadly consequences that lurked in these particular weeds. Creusa was sensibly using the doll to develop muscle memory, while Shevon was daily tutoring them both in the fine art of parenting, with the ironic result that the prostitute and her daughter had once again become fixtures in his life. Apollo's family had grown very strange indeed.

Lee slumped down on the couch beside the Six, and absent-mindedly wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Abandoning the doll, she leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder, and to breathe in the scent of the man she loved. But Lee's dark mood hung in the air, and she quickly raised her head, looking at him worriedly. Anything that so powerfully affected Lee might threaten their daughter, and this caused Creusa's maternal instincts to kick in almost instantly. She would keep Cyrene safe, no matter what the cost.

"I hear it didn't go well," she said. "Erin …"

Her voice trailed off.

Lee nodded in agreement. "We took the Sagittarons down, but the cost was … high. They were far better prepared than we expected."

"Did the centurions …?"

"No … they never even came under fire … didn't take a single casualty. We kept them in the rear echelon from start to finish …"

Apollo vigorously shook his head. "Don't ever let it be said," the one-time Viper pilot bitterly added, "that we're such fools that we made the mistake of asking them to fight our stupid wars for us a second time! We've learned that particular lesson well!"

Creusa sighed, conceding a point that her husband had yet to raise.

"But Caprica Six …," she finally prompted.

"Yeah … we were taking enough casualties that we needed reinforcements … and when Mathias went down … gods, what a mess!"

"You ended up with more reinforcements than you could handle … and they were all Cylons …"

"We were stretched thin, and Lysander didn't blink twice. Your brothers and sisters wanted a piece of the action, and he gave it to them."

"Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing," Creusa lightly murmured. "Haven't you always counseled me that improvisation is the key to victory because battle plans begin to fall apart in the first minutes of any engagement?" She leaned in and kissed Lee on the cheek, a whispered kiss that at once tantalized and promised. Although she was now very close to term, Creusa's sexual appetite had not diminished in the slightest. Doctor Cottle, always mindful of the difficulties that had beset Sharon Agathon, had warned her more than once to take it easy. In truth, however, what the Six wanted was to ride Lee now, give birth to Cyrene tomorrow, somehow muddle through the mandatory six weeks of celibacy that everybody insisted upon (she didn't quite know why), and then resume their usual nocturnal romps across the bed that she had brought down from the baseship. On the whole, Creusa decided, she liked being pregnant, and she was already planning for their second child.

_A boy would be nice. We could name him for Zak. The Admiral would like that, and Lee would certainly approve …_

"It was the right tactical decision," Apollo admitted, "but where in the Articles does it say that the President of the Colonies gets to be judge, jury, and executioner? The Elders are guilty as hell, so why not give them a proper trial? Why is Baltar so intent upon subverting the rule of law?"

"He's afraid, Lee. There's a lot of ill feeling out in the streets, and the marines are not in the mood for a long drawn-out hearing at which the Sagittarons sanctimoniously claim to be the innocent victims of colonial prejudice. No one wants to hear them excuse their actions as a justified response to bigotry. Caprica says that he's trying to stay one step ahead of a lynch mob …"

"And she gets to play the hangman," Lee interrupted. "Caprica Six wants revenge for Erin's death, and the centurions have already transferred what's left of the Brotherhood to the _Prometheus_. We both know what's going to happen now that Six has got her hands on them. She's going to torture them to death, Creusa … which seems to be precisely what everybody around here wants."

"She'll question them … the same way that I pressed the Cavils. Yes, it will be ugly, but it will also be effective." Creusa's voice became more resolute, the warrior inside her surging unexpectedly to the surface. "And it will send a message."

"A message?" A bewildered look passed across Lee's face. _"A message to whom?"_

"Don't you know?" Now it was Creusa's turn to look puzzled. "Caprica wants to make sure that the Sons of Ares understand how far we're prepared to go. She wants to kill two birds with one stone … isn't that the human expression? Tory even suggested that we have Anthia deliver the message in person … although I think my sister may prefer to dump a few bodies on their doorstep. There's nothing like a few mangled corpses to get the point across," she gleefully observed.

"_Has everyone gone insane," _Lee angrily protested as he climbed to his feet. "We're going to torture the Sagittarons in order to push the Sons of Ares back into line? _Why doesn't Caprica Six simply arrest the bastards?_"

"That's not going to happen, Lee. We both know it, and we both know why. Now, husband," she said more sternly, "help me to my feet." She extended her left arm, silently commanding Apollo to assist her. Creusa could still manage- barely- but there were certain indignities that she much preferred to avoid. Waddling off the couch with her stomach jiggling uncontrollably to right and left was one of them.

Apollo laughed, and a devilish look crept into his eyes. His anger had already passed.

"And if I don't," he ventured sadistically.

"Then I will have to punish you … no frakking for the next two months!"

"_Oh, the horror of it,"_ he mocked. But he dropped to his knees, and leaned forward to kiss Creusa tenderly on the belly. He was equally eager for his daughter to be born, although in a tiny corner of his mind a mysterious voice was whispering insistently that one should be careful what one wished for. Still, he gripped Creusa's arm, slid his other hand behind her back, and gently propelled her to her feet.

"_What's my reward," _he whispered, in a voice charged with erotic tension.

"Non-stop frakking for the next two hours," she laughed. "But you will have to temper your enthusiasm because Doctor Cottle will get very grumpy if Cyrene decides to be born in the middle of the night."

"_Oh, the horror of it," _Lee repeated. Paying no attention to the lone centurion who stood silent guard in the corner of the room, he led his wife by the hand into their bed chamber. In Creusa's arms, he hoped to find a measure of peace, even if it was only for a few hours.

"I am so glad that you're nothing like Starbuck," he whispered when he had eased her into their bed. He began shedding his clothing while Creusa slid the loose-fitting blouse that she was wearing over her head. Silently, she urged him to complete the thought.

"About now, she would be accusing me of polishing my halo … calling me a hypocrite … when it came to ripping me a new one, Kara was never at a loss for words."

"She's insecure," Creusa said with a smile. "Cylons can be accused of many things, but we are _not_ insecure!"

"I know," Lee laughed. "You don't need to score points at my expense. You never rub it in. You let me make a fool of myself, and then wait patiently for me to see the light." He kissed her lightly on the lips, while his hand rhythmically stroked her swollen belly. "You are not only the most beautiful woman on New Caprica," he murmured; "you are also the cleverest."

"A woman cannot criticize her husband without criticizing herself," Creusa sagely replied. "Besides, you are my conscience. You always try to do the right thing." She ran her fingers gently up and down Lee's cheek. "But Laura Roslin once told me that, in your eagerness to do the right thing, you sometimes fail to do the smart thing. She sees this as a character flaw; I find it … endearing."

"Like when I put a gun to Tigh's head in a vain attempt to save her presidency? Or smuggled her off _Galactica_ in defiance of martial law?"

"Or fell in love with a Cylon … at a time when you still had every reason to hate us?"

There was nothing for Lee to say in response, so he settled for kissing Creusa again, while his hand drifted down her body, gently caressing everything that it touched.

. . .

"This sucks," Kara announced with a huge yawn. "I never realized how boring travelling through space really is." She leaned back in her chair, stretched out her legs, and brought her feet to rest on the control panel. There were a host of switches under foot, but she paid them no mind. If she got careless and nudged the wrong toggle … triggered an honest-to-gods emergency … why, so much the better.

_Kara, you've gotta keep the crew on their toes. Dull routine saps morale and combat readiness … _

"Do you long for the good, old days, dear? Are you hooked on adrenaline, alcohol, and meaningless sex?" The Three's voice was faintly patronizing.

"Don't forget the Triad games," Kara retorted with calculated indifference. "But what I'm really up for is a good, old-fashioned brawl—preferably alcohol induced." She glanced casually in Melania's direction, and was delighted to see the bitch stiffen.

_Yeah, bitch, you're paying attention all right … which is good, because I'm not finished with you … not by a long shot …_

"Kara, give it a rest," Sam said in an irritated voice. He was seated at the navigation console, which was the crown jewel in the roster of control room assignments. Melania was at the FTL console a few feet to his right—close enough to allow Sam to intervene if Kara suddenly went off the deep end.

"That's 'Captain' to you, Gramps." Kara didn't bother to conceal her own growing sense of irritation.

_Gods, Sam, how can you be so frakking stupid? What in the name of Artemis do you see in the bitch? And why is it that everything I do to push you apart only drives you closer together?_

"Maybe we should throw a party," Rachel said on a hopeful note. "You know … follow Kat's advice: get drunk, get high, and get laid."

"Six, don't encourage her," D'Anna admonished. "Child, you seem so restless. Why don't you go to the weight room and work off your frustration? Your presence is not really required on the bridge."

"Yeah, banish her to the playground," Melania muttered under her breath.

"Did you say something, Miss Peripolides?" Kara's feet were back on the floor, and her body now had the tension of a coiled spring.

"Not a thing, Captain," the brunette coolly replied. She _loathed_ Kara Six. She _loathed _Starbuck. And she positively _despised _Kara Thrace. The prickly bitch had multiple personalities, but one was as ugly as the next. Fortunately, Sam saw his granddaughter for what she was … and that wasn't much.

"A workout sounds like fun," Athena mischievously suggested. "And if you want to box, I'll lace up the gloves. I enjoy being your sparring partner."

Kara sent a dirty look in Athena's direction: she knew a double-entendre when she heard one. But then she smiled sweetly as a bright idea began to form in the recesses of her booze besotted brain. She studied Melania, whose back was still turned, and her eyes narrowed as she thought about what she wanted to do.

"That's a good idea, Eight … in fact, that's a _very _good idea!"

Kara clasped her hands behind her neck, and her body visibly relaxed. "Listen up, everybody. Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna build a boxing ring, and then we're gonna have at it. It's a fine fleet tradition … a way to deal with the frustration that builds up on ships in space. Out here, arguments can easily turn into grudges, and if there's no outlet for the resentment and rage, the next thing you know … somebody gets badly hurt … maybe even killed. This way, we all get to let off some steam because everybody gets to participate. Rank doesn't matter. As long as you throw your tags in the box, you get to dance with the partner of your choice!"

_And maybe I'll get lucky, _Kara thought, _and Melania frakkin' Peripolides will be stupid enough to go for it. In which case I'll knock her sorry ass into the next century!_

. . .

"Tiy, בוקר טוב," Twosret called out in her usual cheerful fashion. She pulled back the crude papyrus mat that served as a curtain, and the bright morning sun poured into the room. "זה הזמן לקום."

"Yeah, yeah … I hear you," Boomer groaned. Reveille sounded the same in every language in the known universe. She knew it was time to get up, although her body still cried out for sleep. The long hours of the previous day had given way to the even longer hours of the ensuing night. The language barrier notwithstanding, Sharon's colorful arrival in the village of Akhmin had immediately degenerated into the inevitable meet and greet—and in the beginning, it had not gone well. Twosret's younger brother, Anen, had regarded her with open suspicion, but his hostility paled alongside that of his mother, Thuyu. The latter had taken one look at Boomer, and then she had begun savagely to berate her daughter for bringing something called a Hyksos into their home. Sharon hadn't followed one word of the conversation, but it was pretty obvious that the Hyksos weren't exactly the flavor of the month in this riverside community. Taking a chance, she had rudely interrupted Thuyu's tirade to point at her own chest and yell out the word "cylon." She had repeated herself several times, only to be rewarded with a further burst of Thuyu's fury, the words "cylon" and "Hyksos" now being used interchangeably.

Mother and daughter had been going at it for several minutes, with Twosret emphatically arguing that the Cylons were not a wholly owned subsidiary of the Hyksos corporation, before it had finally dawned on Boomer that her friend's father, Yuya, was silently studying her and no doubt forming his own conclusions. He had thoughtfully fingered her flight suit before running his fingers over the smooth, cold metal of the fleet issue sidearm holstered on her right hip. He had taken an especially hard look at her boots, and it was at this point that Sharon reckoned he had put it all together and come to the realization that she was a long, long way from home. He had knelt on the hard packed floor, a piece of charcoal in hand, and had sketched a crude map of the entire region that she had overflown a few nights earlier. He had touched the western edge of the vast land mass to the northeast, and then a series of islands ranging westward across the inland sea into which, Sharon knew, the river outside would eventually flow. He had watched her expectantly, waiting for her to shout out that this place or that was "home." In the end, the increasingly frustrated Eight had pointed straight up at the ceiling, not expecting Yuya to understand that she had travelled far across the stars. But to her infinite surprise and deep, deep disquiet, he had grasped the point instantly—and accepted it without question. Hours later, after the others had gone to bed, and the two of them had consumed seemingly bottomless cups of some incredibly potent local wine, Yuya had led her outside and silently pointed up at the stars. It had taken Boomer several minutes to locate Aries; there were other, brighter constellations, but if the Eights could be said to have a home, Aerilon was it. He had nodded in understanding, never questioning what should have seemed an outrageous claim, before leading her back inside and sending her off to bed. The prickly straw mattress was uncomfortable in the extreme, but a Cylon could program her sleep, and Sharon had dozed off without difficulty.

To awaken to the worst hangover that she had ever experienced.

_Gods, but what I wouldn't give to pit Yuya against Starbuck in a drinking contest!_

Twosret dropped a tunic on the mattress- it was identical to the one that she was wearing- and she sat a pair of crude sandals on the dirt floor within Boomer's reach.

"אתה צריך ללבוש בגדים מתאימים יותר," the girl proclaimed.

"Sure, I get it … you want me to change my clothing … want me to blend in."

_This has to be Yuya's idea. The old man is smart … smart enough to realize that a stranger draws attention to herself. And Thuyu won't be the only one who thinks that I'm one of these evil Hyksos …_

Boomer disrobed without hesitation, but she paused when her fingers grazed her dog tags. They were the key to her identity, and having thrown them away once, she had vowed never to do so again.

Seeing her hesitation, Twosret gracefully removed a crude necklace from around her neck, and draped it over Sharon's. It wasn't much to look at- just a few, small, colorful stones strung on a leather thong-but she found the gesture infinitely touching. Twosret was giving her a piece of herself.

"Thanks, Twosret, but I've got to hang on to my tags. Without them, I'd be lost forever."

Twosret smiled with sympathetic understanding; Zwarun was truly a long way from home, and the polished metal that hung around her neck was her one tangible connection to all that she had lost. It was not right to ask her to surrender so much of herself. Twosret's own tribe had wandered far from the land of their fathers, which the songs of her people placed somewhere to the east of the rising sun.

She neatly folded up Tiy's meager but mysterious belongings, and stored then in a reed basket. Then she beckoned for her cylon friend to join her family for breakfast.

Boomer perked up when she sat down at the table. Last night's dinner had consisted of bread, fish, vegetables, and fruits—one of them soft, chewy, and incredibly sweet. And it was back again this morning … along with more bread, fried eggs, and what appeared to be a fishy kind of soup. But what really made the Eight sit up and take notice was the beverage. There was milk on the table … and there was homemade beer … jugs and jugs of humanity's single greatest invention!

_Beer for breakfast! Kara would love this place!_

Sharon politely bowed her head while Yuya offered thanks to his gods—one more entry in her rapidly growing mental catalog of ritual practices that seemed to transcend space and time. What followed could only be described as a culinary free-for-all: hands reached out with the speed of a serpent's tongue to snare bread and fruit, while ladles simultaneously dipped into the clay pot. Anen chortled with triumph when he scooped up the largest chunk of fish, which he proceeded greedily to devour. Twosret, however, shared her prizes with Boomer, who would otherwise have been condemned to eat everyone else's leavings.

After breakfast, the four of them had walked through the village, and Boomer had been amazed by the babble of different languages that had assaulted her ears while her eyes simultaneously tried to cope with the riot of color that passed her in the streets. A tall young woman had been dressed in a one-piece tunic with an intricate weave of red and gold in a precise diamond pattern. The garment, which stretched from her neck to her ankles, hugged her so closely that it revealed every curve of a sensuous body that would have made even a Six green with envy. The large wooden tray that she was balancing on her head never shifted as she wove her languid path through the surrounding crowd. Two middle-aged men were engaged in an intense conversation on a dusty street corner, their dark beards hanging down to their waists. Chickens and geese wandered everywhere, and donkeys, camels, dogs and cats completed the tableau.

They made their way to the riverbank, where a slender boat was beached and waiting. Yuya clambered up onto the deck, and reached down to help Boomer and Twosret board. With the help of several young villagers, Anen pushed their craft out into the water before being the last to scramble onto the deck. He grabbed the crude tiller while a servant set about hoisting the lone sail.

"Felucca," Twosret said as she patted the deck and the railing to her right.

"Felucca," Sharon murmured in turn, adding one more noun to her ever expanding native vocabulary.

The boat glided silently through the water, being quickly captured by the swift moving current. Boomer stretched out and leaned back, exposing her neck to the sun. She could feel the delicious warmth beating into her skin. And of a sudden, she realized that she was happy, and that life, with its manifold simple pleasures, was indeed good.

"זהו מספיק רחוק," Yuya barked. He picked up a reed basket, opened the lid so that Boomer could see its contents, and then carefully deposited it in the stream. She watched without fear as her flight suit and weapon were carried away. They were the detritus of another life, relics to which she could not cling if she truly expected to immerse herself in this strange new culture. In any event, she had replacements for both on her Raptor.

_Although the technology seems far too primitive, it is at least possible that this planet is the Earth that Cylon and Colonial both seek. I hope so. I hope that our prophecies are, as so many of us believe, the word of God. I hope that Kara will discover this world and lead our people home. It's a good world, and we could be happy here. _

. . .

It was late afternoon, the school day now finally behind her, when Laura Roslin sat down at the desk and opened her diary. She stared unseeingly at the blank page in front of her while her thoughts drifted back across the hours, summoning up vivid memories of the incredible scenes that she had witnessed while moving from one classroom to the next in their new educational facility.

Leaving Maya to take her own class of third graders, Laura had first dropped in on the volunteers who looked after the preschoolers. A Three and an Eight had been among those caring for the four and five year olds, and the children had responded to them no differently than they had to the clutch of human mothers who kept them supplied with crayons and finger paint. The Three was especially patient with her young charges, and Laura was powerfully reminded that Ellen Tigh had always intended for her eldest daughters to work as caregivers in many different settings. Quiet and unassuming, the Threes were welcomed into a human society that both needed and appreciated their service to the young and the old, the sick and the troubled.

In another classroom Laura had eavesdropped on a Four who was teaching physics, while across the hall a Leoben was instructing his students in the intricacies of spatial geometry. He was surrounded by eager learners: how could he not be when he had promised his students a chance to put their hard-won knowledge to use inside a Heavy Raider?

But it was the Sixes who most surprised her. In the settlement, mothers often walked their young children to and from school, but prostitutes who had been up all night needed to sleep during the day. The Sixes had taken up the slack, and several of the statuesque blonds had slowly graduated from protecting the children to teaching them. They were now in charge of physical education, and adolescent males flocked to their extracurricular classes in math, science, history, and religion.

_I'll have to pester Gaius to set aside resources for university-level instruction. It's easy to forget that Sixes have brains to match their beauty … and learning doesn't draw to a close at age eighteen. The next generation could very well be the best educated in the history of the Colonies. . . ._

With a sigh, Laura picked up her pen, and began to compose her thoughts.

_This is the three hundred and seventy-fifth day of the exodus, and as hard as it is to believe, it has been little more than two months since permanent settlement on New Caprica began. Progress has been nothing short of astonishing- a new hospital, a new school- every day sees another apartment block rising along the river bank. People are opening businesses, chasing their dreams. Life is getting back to normal. We have come so far, so fast, because Cylons and humans are living and working together—and a year ago, if anyone had told me that this would be our fate, I would have put them out the nearest airlock as a clear and present danger to the fleet._

_And yet, for all that we have overcome, for good and for ill we remain true to our nature. It has become painfully apparent that we can forgive the Cylons far more readily than we can forgive each other. There wasn't supposed to be a trial, but Lee Adama kept badgering the Baltars, and he eventually got his way. How typical of Lee, who has a knack for doing the right thing at the wrong time! What a farce. Despite the best efforts of Romo Lampkin, who truly excels at turning trials into circuses, the tribunal needed less than a week to weigh the evidence against the Sagittaron Elders. Although their guilt was manifest and their execution for treason well deserved, I still fear that it will take generations to heal the wounds that they have opened among us. Does the prison that now confronts us on the opposite side of the river house criminals, or dissidents? Can an entire people stand condemned, or is this merely the latest entry in the long history of human oppression? Romo's passionate defense of the Elders failed to save his clients from the gallows, but the questions remain: how much doubt did he sow, and how bitter will the harvest eventually prove? I know what Lee Adama thinks … and for once I agree with him. Is hatred the only enduring legacy that we have to offer our children? Cyrene deserves better. All of the children, human and hybrid alike, deserve better._

. . .

Eric Lackey rested his arms casually on his knees, a huge grin spreading across his face. He was sitting on an outcropping of rock overlooking the river, watching while Six had her first go at spear fishing. She was stark naked, and concentrating intently. With the spear clutched in her fist and her blond hair glowing in the midday sun, she reminded him of the goddess Artemis.

"It's been a long time since I had a good laugh, Six! I know you're having fun, but remember … if you don't catch it, we can't eat it!"

The young couple had travelled more than a hundred miles upstream, and the day before they had finally located a cave that was perfect for their purposes. It had a sandy floor that would be kind to their feet, and a vent that would allow the smoke from their cooking fire to escape through the roof. It was warm and dry, and separated from the river by a stretch of alluvial soil that positively cried out for cultivation. The river itself was well stocked with fish, and there were a number of edible plants running wild along its banks. They had shelter and they had food, and life was filled with bright promise.

Six had her arm cocked. A large fish was swimming lazily towards her, unaware of the danger that now loomed so close. Sixes were fast on their feet, with incredibly swift reflexes. The fish didn't stand a chance.

She lunged, the spear a blur in her hand as it pierced the water.

The fish abruptly changed course, and the spear bit into the river bottom. Taken by surprise and thrown completely off balance, Six crashed head first into the stream. When she struggled back to her feet, she was thoroughly drenched. The water was cold, and now she was miserable.

"Bravo, Six, bravo," Eric clapped. "Now, if only we had instant replay!"

Shedding his own shoes and clothes, the Sagittaron waded out to stand at her side.

"I guess your creators didn't include basic survival skills in your programming," he said as her wrapped his arm sympathetically around her shoulders and hugged her close. "Gods, but you're beautiful."

"I'm just a city girl," Six replied as she twisted around to stare into his eyes. She pulled him close, and kissed him hungrily. "No one expected overseers to take up camping as a hobby."

"Not to worry … on Sagittaron, we all lived pretty close to nature. So, let me give you your first lesson. You need to spread your feet farther apart, and bend your knees a bit. But the most important thing … you don't aim at the fish, you aim at the place where he's going to turn. Let him come to you … like this."

Eric held the spear in a relaxed grip, and waited patiently. It didn't take long. A fish glided into the killing zone, and he struck. When he raised the spear, the fish was wriggling on its tip.

"Dinner," he shouted triumphantly as he lifted his trophy towards the sky.

Six laughed with delight, and clapped her hands with genuine admiration. Out here in the wilderness, she was no longer an anonymous cog in the great cylon wheel. She was a person, and she would have to evolve if they were going to survive. Cut off from the collective, she would have to learn by trial and error … she would have to learn as humans had learned from time immemorial.

"I love you, Eric," she confessed as she once more pulled him close. "And I want to frak … right here, right now."

"Nope," he grinned, "not until you've caught your first fish. Besides," he added as an afterthought, "this water is frakkin' cold!"

Eric tossed the fish onto the shore, and thrust the spear back into Six's hand. "Now get to work," he admonished.

Reluctantly, Six complied. But her aim quickly improved, and by sunset she had added seven more fish to their catch. There was plenty of work to do back in the cave- indeed, from now on there would always be plenty of work to do- but when they finally buried themselves under the blankets, they made love with the slow and intimate rhythm of children who knew that they had all the time in the world.

. . .

"This is the final report," Caprica said as she dropped it onto Gaius Baltar's desk.

Sharon fingered it, but she had enough to do in the present without worrying overmuch about the past. She was only interested in the final tally. "Is everyone present and accounted for," she inquired.

"No," Caprica admitted. She sat down gracefully on the couch to Sharon's right, and casually studied the Eight. The bulge in her stomach had grown noticeably larger over the past week. It was obvious that the twins were flourishing. "There are several Sagittarons in the military—people like Petty Officer Dualla. They remain at liberty, but we're keeping a close eye on them. If their loyalty should come under suspicion …"

"Just keep in mind that Admiral Adama regards everyone associated with _Galactica_ as family," Sharon warned. "I don't want to have problems with the military, so be diplomatic."

"Understood, Madame President," the Six politely acknowledged. In private, Caprica and Sharon could dispense with the tiresome protocols of their respective offices. Human engineers were building New Caprica, but they both understood that Cylons were governing the planet. The humans were too unpredictable, and too unstable, to be allowed to look after their own affairs.

"A dozen Sagittaron civilians left the settlement of their own volition," the blond Cylon continued. "We'll track them down and talk to them, but we need pioneers, so I'm inclined to leave them to their own devices."

"Agreed," Sharon said with a curt nod; "now, what about the Six and her Sagittaron lover?"

"They've vanished,"Caprica conceded. "Karl Agathon told me that they're heading north, and that they're well supplied. They apparently intend to strike out on their own."

"What do you want to do?"

"Send out the centurions to track them down. Eric Lackey was affiliated with the Brotherhood, and my sister is a fugitive. Justice must be allowed to run its course."

"Yes, we don't want to leave any loose ends." Sharon smiled, but there was no warmth in the gesture. "Dino and Six extracted the Sagittarons' secrets quite efficiently. Weapons caches, food and medical supplies … it's amazing how much information these so-called toughs will disclose when you start cutting off their arms and legs with a hacksaw. Your sister was quite pleased."

"Shall I pass the word … make it clear that the Sons of Ares are now fair game?"

"Let's give Enzo Carlotti a little more rope," Sharon mused. "Tell Six to let the opposition make the first move, but then I expect her to cut those bastards off at the knees. After all, we can't have humans running the underworld."

Caprica laughed appreciatively. The Eights were easy to underestimate. The innocence in their dewy eyes belied the toughness and hard-edged calculation with which they approached life. Eights never lost sight of the ultimate objective.

"Where's Gaius," the Six wondered.

"Out in the fields with his centurion friends, I would imagine. Gaius takes a keen interest in our … medicinal plants. I'm curious, Six: has my dear husband always been such an enthusiastic student of pharmacopeia?"

"When I knew him, sex, booze and an impressively wide range of narcotic substances pretty much defined Gaius' universe. It's no wonder," Caprica laughed maliciously, "that he gets along so well with the hybrid. Is he frakking Zenobia as well?"

"I haven't asked," Sharon said with a shudder. "And believe me, I don't want to know!"

"Well, it may interest you to learn that at present Colonel Phillips is entertaining Sonja Six somewhere upriver. I gather that, in his own quiet way, the colonel is well and truly smitten."

"Excellent … this means that among those in a position of authority, Captain Lysander is the only one left who has yet to cultivate the proper attachment. Has he shown any interest?"

"No, but he is not on intimate terms with any of the human females, so he is at least vulnerable to our charms. It would not surprise me if he ends up the property of a Three."

"Men are so stupid," Sharon reflected, "so easily manipulated. But how can they remain so blind? You would think _someone_ would notice that Threes, Sixes, and Eights hold this community together!"

"They probably do notice," Caprica retorted. "But they do not regard it as cause for alarm. How could they when they have been conditioned to bow down before the human female across millennia of time? We are behaving exactly as the male animal expects us to behave. More importantly, we are behaving just like they _want_ us to behave. Men are happiest when we hold their leash gently but firmly in our hands."

"So, we have prevailed not because we're cylon but because we're female," Sharon concluded.

"Females in a near constant state of heat," Caprica ruefully observed. "In the final analysis, we are all Ellen's children … and she appears often to have used herself as the template for our programming. In retrospect, it seems obvious that her plan for our return to the Colonies would have succeeded brilliantly."

"If only mama had resisted the temptation to have sons," Sharon said with regret. "Everything would have worked out."

"Yes," Caprica agreed; "but we now know that mama has always liked her men."

"I'm just glad that we don't have mama's … temperament? Is that the word I'm searching for?" Sharon ran her hand across her belly. The life that she carried within filled her with a sense of purpose.

"I think so," Caprica laughed. She was in an unusually good mood. "We are all intensely monogamous. Perhaps we have papa Saul to thank for that; he prizes loyalty … and with good reason!"

"It might have been one of the others," Sharon opined. "I think about them a lot … wonder who they are."

"You can openly question the identity of the other creators," Caprica exclaimed with surprise. "How is that possible?"

"The babies," Sharon said with just a trace of smugness in her voice. "Whatever the Cavils did to us, getting pregnant sets us free. Doctor Cottle keeps reminding me that, at the level of basic chemistry, soon I will no longer be cylon in any meaningful sense of the word."

"How wonderful for you … having Gaius' DNA rampaging through your body." Caprica's tone was studiously neutral.

"What about you, Six? Are you going to wait for Sam to return, or are you perhaps thinking of going after Captain Lysander yourself?"

Caprica Six thought about the question with a certain sense of nostalgia. She had somehow acquired a reputation for being a slut despite the fact that she had only slept with three men in her entire existence—and seducing Gaius and John had simply been a matter of doing her duty. No, she belonged to Sam; she had no desire to share her bed with anyone else.

"I'll wait for Sam to come back." There was real feeling in her voice.

. . .

"I'm hungry," Sam yawned. "What do you say we go get something to eat?" His legs were tangled up with Melania's, and their lovemaking had been so enthusiastic that the blanket on their bed had somehow managed to become knotted around one of his calves. He reached down and idly began to pry himself loose.

"I'm happy right here," Melania breathed before planting a kiss on his bare chest. "And if you want to eat something, you can start with me!"

"And we know exactly where that will lead," Sam grinned. "Mel, you're insatiable. Don't you ever get enough?"

"Uh, uh … you bring out the female in me … big time!" Melania ran her fingernails back and forth across Sam's stomach, and his thighs twitched in response.

"Well, if we're going to keep up this pace, I need fuel." He patted Melania playfully on the rump. "Come on, get dressed. We'll grab a bite, and then we'll come back here and write the next chapter in our unfolding saga." He nuzzled her in the chest, and grazed one of her nipples with his tongue. They were hard as rocks, and Melania emitted a low moan. Her body was on fire, and everything Sam did to her merely stoked the flames.

"Okay, you win. I'm not happy about it, but you win." Melania slid out of bed, and gathered up her clothes, which were scattered all over the floor. When they had finished dressing, they strolled down the corridor to the crew's mess hall. While Kara was an emotional wreck, even Sam admitted that she ran a reasonably tight ship. Day or night, there was always food to hand.

The cafeteria was unattended, but there were a number of covered platters laid out on warmers. Sam lifted the lid on one of them at random, and was greeted with the sight of a spicy Tauron sausage that was one of his favorite foods. His stomach began to rumble with anticipated pleasure because where there was sausage, there had to be beans. He quickly grabbed two plates, and began filling them.

"Life is good," he hummed. When he had finished, he turned around so that Melania could see the treats that awaited them.

"Look, Mel … sausage and beans. It doesn't get any better than this!"

Melania Peripolides took one look at the unappetizing mush that Sam Anders called food, and then she bent over and began violently to vomit all over the deck.

. . .

"So much for cylon physiology," Shelly sighed. "From morning sickness to leg cramps, I've had every lousy symptom in Dr. Stork's guide, but this is the worst. It never quits."

"Does this help," Bill asked. He was kneading his wife's sacral muscles, a nightly ritual that he had performed twice before during the course of his long life. But he had been younger then, and his own muscles had been firmer and stronger. Now his arms ached, and though he would never admit it, his fingers were screaming at him to cease and desist.

"Oh, you have no idea," Shelly murmured.

"It could be worse," Bill said in an encouraging tone. "You could be a mare. Have you ever seen a horse give birth … or a porcupine?"

"Are you trying to cheer me up?"

"Just trying to put things in perspective," he answered. "And then there's that spider on Scorpia and the deep water fish on Aquaria. I don't remember their names, but we studied them in school. After they give birth, their offspring promptly eat them. At least we won't have to deal with that problem."

"Nature is cruel … brutal, and cruel. Is that why you decided not to intervene down on New Caprica, despite Lee's rather transparent attempts to play on your guilt? Did you decide that disposing of the Sagittarons was the best way to keep the peace?"

"My son has spent a very large portion of his life trying to make me feel guilty about one thing or another, but I don't do guilt, Shelly. And I didn't intervene for the simple reason that the Sagittaron uprising was strictly a civilian matter. It's Baltar's job to deal with sedition, and it's my job to give the government whatever military assistance the President requires. We both did our jobs."

"And if Gaius had asked for more?"

"Within reason, I would have given him whatever he wanted."

The intercom buzzed sharply, and Bill excused himself to take the call.

"Adama."

"Admiral, it's Dionysia; Sir, we need you in the CIC … immediate."

"Is there a problem, Six?"

"I'm not sure, Admiral. We have multiple DRADIS contacts inbound, all flashing Colonial ID. But I've never heard of the _Diana_ or the _Delos_."

"The _Diana_? Six, the _Diana _is a Gemenese transport, and it's been in cylon hands for more than forty years. Issue hostile challenge and ID, and if you don't get the proper response, go to Condition One and flash the baseship to launch Raiders. I'm on my way."

"_Bill?"_

"I don't know, Shelly. We've got incoming traffic, but this could be the _Olympic Carrier_ all over again." Adama was still buttoning his tunic as he rushed through the hatch and headed for the CIC.

**Author's note. Last night marked the third anniversary of The Long Journey Home. As the story enters its fourth year, I wanted to take this opportunity to thank the many thousands of readers in 73 countries who have come along for the ride. I am especially grateful to those of you who have taken the time to review. Many authors seem to give up on their stories, however creative and well written they may be, because of a perceived lack of interest. Supporting the community of authors will encourage them to keep **_**Battlestar Galactica**_** alive.**


	21. Chapter 21: Revelations

CHAPTER 21

REVELATIONS

Alexander Phillips knelt down, and used a stout branch to poke at the embers of the dying fire. It was a chilly night, and he really did need to stoke the flames, but the colonel wasn't about to kid himself. He was as nervous as a thirteen year old on his first date.

_Will somebody please tell me how to make small talk with a Cylon? _The question kept bouncing around inside his skull. _Sonja's never been to a movie … doesn't know the first thing about music. She doesn't know any jokes; she doesn't seem to have a favorite food. This is worse than when I took Moira home to meet my parents …_

For her part, Sonja Six was stretched out on the other side of the fire. Comfortably wrapped in blankets, and with her head propped up in the palm of her hand, she was contentedly watching as the human fussed about, obviously stalling while he tried to figure out how to make his approach. This was her first date, and the experience intrigued her. She wanted to frak, and she was pretty sure that Alexander had brought her out into the wild for just that purpose, but he didn't seem to know how to get to the point. She made a mental note to ask her sisters whether dating always involved so many arcane rituals.

"You love it out here, don't you?" Sonja decided that she would have to follow Caprica's advice and engage in what the humans called small talk. "The nebula is so luminous … like a blanket that God has provided for our comfort."

_And would you please frak me? Do I have to get down on my knees and beg?_

"When I was a kid, my dad used to take us camping every summer." Alexander tossed some more kindling on the fire, and then carefully began to add logs from the stack that he had cut earlier in the day. "We used to catch fish, and grill them in the flames. Yeah, this brings back memories … all of them good."

"And now we're making new memories; I hope that these will be good for you as well." Sonja hoped that her words were suggestive enough for Alexander to get the message.

_Perhaps I should remove my blouse. The Eights all say that the human male is invariably aroused by the sight of the female breast. And it's also supposed to be a 'dead clue', whatever that means. How can a clue be dead?_

Sonja sat up, allowed the blankets to fall away, and stretched her arms out high over her head. Her eyes met Alexander's, the challenge and the invitation hopefully plain enough for even the thickest male to see. All she wanted to do was frak.

Alexander gulped, and plucking up his courage, came round the fire to kneel at Sonja's side. He reached out, and ran his fingers tenderly along the side of her cheek. "You are so incredibly beautiful," he breathed.

Sonja smiled enigmatically, and reached out to clasp the back of Alexander's neck. She pulled him close, using rather more force than the moment required, and kissed him firmly on the lips. Sixes were dominant by nature, and Sonja had quickly grown impatient with Alexander's version of small talk. Her hand fell away, and drifted down to caress her mate's loins. She much preferred her own way of communicating, which was direct, and very much to the point.

. . .

"Bring me up to speed, Six. What's happening out there?" Adama was intently studying the DRADIS screen above his head, but the system was supplying little in the way of useful information.

"Admiral, the _Diana _and the _Delos_ are still closing, but they're slowing down and appear to be maneuvering into high orbit. They have one Heavy Raider, and a full squad of Raiders for escort. I've issued hostile challenge and ID, but there's been no reply. The baseship is launching Raiders to screen the fleet. Rhodope has ordered the alert Vipers to launch as well, but they're still in the tubes. Sir … we're getting slower."

Adama winced at the implied rebuke because it was fully merited. Maintaining discipline and morale on a ship reduced to picket duty was every commander's nightmare. In a garrison behind the front lines, tedium was like a corrosive acid, slowly consuming everyone and everything that it touched. Sonja was a superb XO, but Bill wasn't about to kid himself: he and the Six were barely holding their own.

Under his breath, the admiral cursed his bad luck. Shelly was a very determined matchmaker, and once she had sensed the depth of Alexander Phillips' feelings for her no nonsense sister, she had begun campaigning to push them together. She had pressured Bill to grant Sonja shore leave, and with nothing happening upstairs, he in turn had urged the Cylon to take it. He hadn't quite dragged her onto the colonel's waiting Raptor, but the Six had been visibly reluctant to abandon her post.

_Well, they say that no good deed goes unpunished …_

"Well done, Dionysia; now, let's do this one by the numbers. Rhodope, have they got nukes?"

The Six slowly shook her head, and watching her body language, Bill instantly concluded that she was as puzzled as he was. If this was another cylon trick, it was one that his blond haired tactical officer hadn't encountered before.

"No, sir; they haven't triggered the radiological alarm. Even the Raiders … they're carrying missiles, but conventional ordnance only."

"Then, we're missing something," Bill ventured, "and it's probably something obvious." He thought for a moment, smiling enigmatically as he remembered one of the fundamental truths of life that his father had drilled into him so long ago: _more often than not, the first answer that comes to mind is the right answer_. Instinct had served Joe Adama well in the courtroom, and the son had inherited his father's sixth sense. Bill decided to play a hunch.

"Dionysia, ignore the two colonial vessels. See if you can contact the Heavy Raider. Use the scrambled channel, and if that doesn't work, start running through the combat frequencies."

Wordlessly, the Six shifted bands, and a moment later all but snapped to attention. "Admiral, we're being hailed! It's an Eight!"

"Put her on speaker … let's see what she has to say."

"… _say again, Galactica … I repeat … do not fire! The Diana and the Delos are under our command. There are Colonial officers aboard … I say again, Galactica … I repeat … do not fire!"_

Bill picked up the phone, and made a deliberate effort to keep his tone light and casual. "Eight, this is _Galactica_ Actual. Who's in charge over there?"

"Lieutenant Gaeta, sir; Natalie tasked him to bring these ships home." Adama heard the Sharon breathe a loud sigh of relief. "Cynthia Six is piloting the _Delos_; Felix is on the command deck of the _Diana_."

"Eight, I came _this close_ to giving the order to shoot you down. Why are Lieutenant Gaeta and Six observing radio silence this close to New Caprica?"

"No choice, sir; the engines are in good shape, but the comm links on both ships are shot, and we don't have the spare parts to rebuild them. That's why I'm out here … why I've been trying to reach you. Felix thinks that he might find what we need to repair the arrays on one of the older civilian transports, so he wants to go shopping ASAP. Coming out of jump, we've been using jury-rigged signal lights to pass messages back and forth. It's been a long couple of weeks."

"Then I won't keep you. Get back to the _Diana_, and instruct Lieutenant Gaeta to proceed with the orbital insertion. We'll worry about your parking slots later. I'll expect all senior personnel, both human and Cylon, in my quarters in two hours."

Bill hung up the wireless, but only to collect his thoughts. This suddenly had the makings of a very busy day.

"Dionysia, get the President's office on the line. I want to speak with Billy Keikeya. Then find Polyxena and tell her that she's got two hours to organize a reception. Notify Doctors Cottle and O'Neill that I'll be sending a Raptor to collect them, and have somebody track Lee down. He's Baltar's security advisor, so he should be here as well."

Rhodope looked curiously at the admiral while she decided how to phrase the question that had to be on the minds of everyone in the CIC.

"Admiral," she softly queried, "these two ships … is there something about them that we should know?"

"The _Delos _is a medical frigate. I've never been on board, but I'm familiar with the class. This is really going to make Doc Cottle's day; I promise you that, in just a few hours, he'll be urging us to consign _Hippolyte_ to the scrap heap."

"And the _Diana_?" Rhodope had been serving in the CIC long enough to recognize that the vessel was personally important to the admiral.

"It's a ghost ship," Adama conceded, "and it's been haunting my dreams for more than forty years. It's time to lay the ghosts to rest."

. . .

"They've found us," the blond Six at the navigation console groaned.

Natalie was also immersed in the stream, but when it came to maneuvering through the data she was neither as experienced nor as quick as her younger sister. It took her precious seconds to isolate the contact—a lone Raider that had jumped in for the few moments needed to scan her small fleet before flashing away and reporting back to its parent ship.

"John?" Natalie was waiting for the First Born's input.

"Cavil has baseships both coreward and rimward of our current position," Bierns declared. John could feel the presence of his hybrid sisters. They were so close, and their mood was so … _expectant_. But he still could not sense the hybrids on the newer baseships, and that frightened him. It was like trying to fly with one eye permanently closed. Still, he was getting better at the very macabre game that Cavil was forcing him to play, and Natalie was making it easy for him by following a fixed routine. She would bring the fleet out of jump, set the clock for six hours, and then settle in to wait. Six hours without enemy contact would mean that they had finally eluded the pursuit—but only once had they even reached the four hour mark. Far too often, it would take the Ones less than forty minutes to find them.

"I want to do something different this time," the spook added. In an effort to shake the Cavils, John had been avoiding the dimension that even the Cylons were beginning to call V-world, choosing instead to communicate with Reun through the stream. He remained in hiding until they were discovered, at which point he would enter the virtual universe for the psychic equivalent of precisely one full DRADIS sweep. Get in, locate his sisters, and get out. Minimize his virtual footprints. Neutralize the Ones' advantage. Make them rely on the Raiders instead of the extra-sensory talents of their third generation hybrids.

"Let's reverse course … two straight-line jumps in rapid succession. We should come out rimward of the ships that are dogging us below the galactic equator."

"Major, that heading takes us in the wrong direction," Racetrack protested. "The longer we fool around out here, the more likely it becomes that the Cavils will take New Caprica by surprise."

"No," Hoshi demurred; "the Major's right. If we can lead the Ones on a wild goose chase, we increase the odds of Felix and Cynthia getting through undetected."

"But …"

"No 'buts', Margaret." Bierns was adamant. "You know damned well how hard that planet is to find, even when it's literally right beneath your canopy. Well, Cavil doesn't have the coordinates, or he wouldn't be out here shadowing us, hoping that we'll get sloppy and lead him to the doorstep. Yeah, sure, the Raiders he captured gave him the nebula, but by now he should have long since guessed that that's where the fleet has gone to ground. More to the point, we only have one Cylon pilot MIA … and Boomer is too well trained for the Cavils easily to extract anything beyond the disinformation we pumped into her. We have time."

"But they will use the stream to interrogate her." Leoben shared Racetrack's skepticism. "It's the ultimate lie detector."

"And like any other lie detector," John scoffed, "you can beat it once you figure out how it works. If you don't believe me, then stick Angela's hand in the goop and ask her if she's Hera's maiden uncle. She'll say 'yes', and she won't be lying."

"A lie is not a lie when the person speaking it believes it to be the truth," one of the Fours neatly summarized. "Brother, the behavioral modification regime that the Colonial Secret Service used on their field officers is quite sophisticated. Our programming makes the conditioning even more effective on us. Our First Born knows whereof he speaks."

"Does this mean that we're going to get back in the fight," the Eight at the weapons station growled. "I'm sick and tired of running … and for the last three weeks, that's all we've done."

Natalie looked at John, and silently beckoned for him to continue. This was his plan, but he had run it by Hoshi, and her XO had signed off on it without hesitation. She was ready to proceed.

"We are going to resume our original operational plan—hit and run attacks against choke points in the communications grid, and weakly defended server nodes in the resurrection network. We'll try and make our attacks seem random and unplanned—the actions of a wounded and somewhat desperate force that doesn't have the stomach for another set-piece battle. Our movements will appear to be opportunistic, and therefore unpredictable and directionless. In reality, we're going to try and put Kobol beyond Cavil's reach, and with that build another layer of protection for Gemenon. At some point, the Ones will lose track of us, and that's when we can make a dash for home. But if the Ones commit a major tactical error somewhere along the way … for example, dispersing their baseships in order to expand their search radius? Yes, Eight, when the odds favor us, we're going to hit them … we're going to hit them hard!"

. . .

"Felix," Gaius said with genuine feeling as he rested his hand on the younger man's shoulder, "it's good to see you again. I've missed our little chats."

"Thank you, Mr. President. It's good to be home, although I wish that we had been able to bring you better news."

"You've done well out there, Felix. Granted, so far I've only seen your summary report, but still … I don't want you to minimize what you've managed to achieve. Now, I sense that young Polyxena is anxious for us to get started, so why don't you grab yourself something to drink and find a seat?"

"That's right, Mr. President," Xena grinned. "I would like to call this meeting of the Pregnant Cylons Club to order, and try and finish up today's business before one of our charter members goes into labor!"

"Indeed," Adama chuckled. Since Creusa and Sharon had chosen to accompany their husbands, his quarters were positively bursting with pregnant cylon flesh. "We have a lot to talk about, so everyone get comfortable. I want Mr. Gaeta and Cynthia to walk us through what's happened out there, and then we'll talk about where we go from here. Lieutenant, you have the floor."

"Thank you, sir," Felix replied as he paused to collect his thoughts. "I'm not sure that Major Bierns would appreciate the analogy, but the battle plan that he drew up was very similar to Admiral Cain's. In the beginning, we zeroed in on vulnerable communication relays. They were lightly defended-generally, nothing more than a single squadron of Raiders- and the Blackbird gave us an enormous tactical advantage. On the whole, I'd say that we did a pretty good job of disrupting Cavil's information flow. Then we upped the ante, and started going after the resurrection network. The individual nodes were much more heavily defended, and we took some casualties, but we did enough damage to force the Cavils to come after us. Drawing them off was always part of the plan, but if you don't mind, sir, I'll let Cynthia go over this part of the operation."

"There is more to resurrection," the Six explained to her human audience, "than the Hub and the various ships where we download. The Ones have constructed a matrix of servers throughout cylon space that vastly extends the range of the few resurrection ships currently in operation. The Cavils keep the ships themselves close; as a rule, they are less than one jump away. They want to keep their most important asset safe from any nasty surprises that we might send their way."

"I suppose that makes sense," Adama agreed.

"I don't know, Dad," Lee objected. "We captured an entire supply convoy, including a resurrection ship, when they made the mistake of getting too close. If it was up to me, I'd want that ship as far out of reach as possible."

"Which brings us back to the network," Cynthia observed. "Envision a system of relays that stretches from the current location of the attack fleet all the way back to the Colonies. Cavil can die a thousand parsecs outside the range of the nearest resurrection ship, and his consciousness will be shuttled from one node to the next until it finally reaches a location where the download can occur."

"So, if you start blowing up individual servers," Cottle snorted, "the bastard's consciousness suddenly slams into the electronic equivalent of a brick wall. I would imagine that has to hurt."

"A better analogy," the Six suggested, "would be falling off a cliff, and belatedly discovering that the pit now yawning beneath you is bottomless. You would continue falling … forever."

"My God," Baltar whistled, "no wonder the Cavils came after you! You were threatening them with something far worse than being boxed!"

"Precisely," Cynthia agreed, "but in the meantime we jumped into the Acheron system, and discovered the planet we named Tartarus. The civilian transports that our centurion forefathers captured during the first war were all mothballed in one of the deeper craters. Captain Katraine insisted that we salvage the _Diana_; she told us that the ship was personally important to you, Admiral. As for the _Delos_ …"

Cynthia simply shook her head, and her voice trailed off. She was depending on Gaeta to describe what they had found in L-7 and L-8. The Six didn't trust herself to continue: just thinking about the twin chambers of horror was enough to send her into a towering rage.

"The Cavils were using the _Delos_ as a storage facility," Felix murmured in a voice so low that the others had to strain to hear him. "For their … lab experiments," he weakly added.

"Go on, Mr. Gaeta," the Admiral commanded. This section of the preliminary report had sickened him; now, everyone present was going to learn what John Bierns had been coping with since early childhood. For his part, Bill couldn't stop wondering how the man had held on to his sanity.

"Yes, sir," Felix acknowledged. "One chamber housed the well preserved remains of a Three, a Six, and two Eights. They were floating inside large, transparent jars; Commander Six ordered the chamber to be sealed, so we were unable to identify the solution. Miss Karanis speculated that it's either formalin, or something similar. There were two smaller containers housing a pair of male infants, one aborted in the third trimester, the other murdered shortly after birth. All but the Six had been surgically dissected. Major Bierns has confirmed the identities of everyone in question. The Six … the Six was Kara's mother."

Creusa winced, and reached out instinctively to grip Apollo's hand. Lee felt as if his head was about to explode.

"_Aspasia! Oh, gods on high … when Kara finds out …"_

Adama waited until the shock wave had worked its way around his quarters before grimly beckoning for Gaeta to continue.

"The adjoining chamber was much larger, and it held a wider range of … exhibits." Felix was speaking in a subdued monotone. "The Cylons were all first generation. Phryne … the first Six, and her daughter … Sharon and Rebecca, the first Eights … John's mother—it was pretty much the same arrangement. But there was also a one-eyed humanoid with hooves instead of feet … a kind of … of … weird cross between a centurion and an animal of some kind. And then there was the …"

Felix paused again while he searched for words to describe the strange creature that had seemed part human and part cephalopod.

"Sitting off by itself … it's kind of hard to describe. There was this thing that looked vaguely human from the waist up, but there were no eyes, and the nose and mouth were thin slits. But below the waist, there was nothing but tentacles … like an octopus or a squid. It looked like something designed to operate in an aquatic environment, or maybe it was a failed attempt to fashion a purely organic hybrid." Felix shook his head in frustration. "There were no notes or charts explaining any of this, so we have very little to go on."

Adama leaned back in his chair, and began sifting through memories that he would have much preferred to leave untouched. "Mr. Gaeta's full report includes photos," he remarked as he glanced around the room, "which you can all study at your leisure when we're done. But for now, maybe I can help. I graduated from the Academy near the end of the war, and I was posted to _Galactica_—the newest battlestar in the fleet. I was still in my teens … a cocky, hot-shot pilot who knew that he could win the war all by himself if everyone else would just get out of the way. I was insufferable. Anyway, I expected Commander Nash to give me a Viper; instead, my first assignment was piloting a broken-down old Raptor called _Wild Weasel_ on what was supposed to be a milk run. But it turned out to be a black ops mission. The idea was to take one of Graystone Industries' top cyberneticists behind enemy lines, to an ice planet called Djerba. There we would rendezvous with a SPECFOR unit that had gone ahead to reconnoiter, and the marines would lead Dr. Kelly to an automated cylon transmission array. Her job was to upload a virus that would spread across their network and give us the ability to neutralize their defenses at a time of our choosing. Only it turned out that Beka was working for the other side and we knew it, so the whole thing was an elaborate sting operation cooked up by the spooks to get the Cylons out of position and set up an offensive that bought us another six months in a war that at the time wasn't going very well."

Adama sadly shook his head, the bitter taste of the long buried memories eating at him the same way they had on the day of the decommissioning ceremony. Beka Kelly had been right, but for all the wrong reasons.

_They value life far more than we do._

More than forty years after the fact, he could still hear the conviction in her voice, her indictment of the human race ringing as loudly in his ears now as it had then. Surely Beka's ghost had been standing beside him in the corridor a few weeks earlier, when he had somehow found the courage openly to admit to Amy that humanity had been wrong all along. Perhaps, seeing the depth of his affection for the Eight, Beka would finally be able to forgive an old man who had once been so very young and foolish. Perhaps, seeing the life growing inside Shelly and Creusa, her tormented spirit would at last find peace.

"A lot of people died carrying out that mission, including the entire Special Forces unit. They were attacked by giant snakes … very aggressive cylon constructs that were half animal and half machine. What you were looking at on the _Delos_, Lieutenant Gaeta, might well have been something similar."

"We need to investigate further," Baltar interjected. "I will take charge of the project myself, but I will expect senior medical staff to lend a hand." The President looked meaningfully at Sherman Cottle and Simon O'Neill. "The Cavils have an unhealthy interest in recombinant DNA, and at some point it could cost us dearly. I want to retrace their steps, and see if we can determine what it is that they are trying to accomplish."

"Mr. President," Gaeta sighed, "I'm afraid that we have already discovered at least part of the answer."

Gaius frowned. He couldn't remember anything in the summary report to this effect, so he hazarded a guess. "This has to do with the loss of Cynthia's baseship, doesn't it?"

Felix nodded. "It does," he agreed. "We had brought a new command and control system on line, and Commander Six decided to test it out against the most heavily defended server node we had yet encountered."

"We're talking about cyber warfare," Cynthia cut in, "on a very sophisticated level. Our child was trying to straddle both dimensions at once so that he could simultaneously network the hybrids and direct the battle in real time. The simulations had gone well, but John was already under a lot of stress when the Ones showed up. After that, things got really ugly."

"Gods in Heaven, but I frakkin' well don't believe this!" Lee was outraged. "You turned your own child into a battle computer? _What were you thinking?_ This is exactly why Cavil created John and Kara in the first place, _and you went and did it_? Kara told me that she would kill herself before she let this happen! It's her worst nightmare … it's at the very heart of John's psychotic episodes … _and you went and did it_?"

"_Our child volunteered for this … it was his idea!" _The anger that had been threatening to engulf the unfortunate Six ever since she first set foot on the _Delos_ now came surging to the surface. If this human wanted to fight, he had come to the right place!

"Besides," she snarled, "this is a direct extension of the tactic that our First Born used to secure Natalie's victory against overwhelming odds at Caprica. Humans! You know nothing of the stream, so you know nothing of the boundless love that binds brother to sister. Our hybrids have opened their minds to John in a way that you cannot even begin to imagine … and he returns their trust full measure for measure. They are a community with many hearts but one mind; how ironic, therefore, that what you see as perversion goes to the very core of their existence!"

"A hive mind," Lee spat with as much contempt as he could muster.

"Lee," Creusa said as she laid a restraining hand gently on his arm, "don't. We are all awed by what we see in the stream. You know that Cylons are capable of love. Will you not let us experience it in our own way?"

"There'll be time enough for recriminations later," Bill harshly remarked. He wanted to get back to the business at hand. "So, what went wrong?"

"The Cavils jumped in right on top of us … two baseships that we conservatively estimate to be roughly fifty percent larger than anything we've encountered before. They took us completely by surprise; even when we were close enough to engage, the Major still couldn't pinpoint their hybrids. He said that it was like trying to climb a greased pole."

Felix pursed his lips as he sorted through his memories, trying to decide what to bring up and what to ignore.

"Then they began taunting us. They brought a resurrection ship right to the edge of the battlefield, with two basestars for escort. They were daring us to attack. Commander Six sensed a trap, so she refused to take the bait. Still, we had to bring our own resurrection ship out into the open. We couldn't risk having our pilots download in enemy hands."

"This is positively bizarre," Baltar exclaimed. "How can anyone fight in such an environment?"

"It got worse, Mr. President," Gaeta said with a resigned sigh; "a lot worse. The Cavils had Mara and D'Anna … the Major's mother … in one of their control rooms. They made contact, and then started torturing them. It was a distraction … misdirection … and it worked. We were off balance, and that's when they sent in a third baseship. Again, Major Bierns didn't sense that it was out there. It came out of nowhere, and hit Cynthia's ship with a staggering number of missiles; she didn't stand a chance."

"The after action reports," Adama quietly added, "all indicate that these new baseships can cycle their missile batteries much more quickly than we can. If we can't find a way to compensate, our tactical situation will be less than optimal. Mr. Gaeta, please continue."

"Yes, sir. Commander Six … Natalie's baseship was also badly mauled. Its full recovery will take weeks if not months. It's still out there. Major Bierns has been crawling all over V-world trying to find a way to pin down these third generation hybrids, but at the time we slipped away from the fleet …"

"We made over two hundred jumps in less than ten days," Cynthia continued. "We pushed our ships to the limit, and John tore V-world apart, but he never found them. Unfortunately, the more aggressively he sought them out, the easier it became for the Ones to find us. We only escaped because they were so intent upon following the trail that he was marking."

"They weren't quite coming every 33 minutes," Gaeta said with a weak smile, "but at times it sure felt like it."

"So, let me get this straight," Lee said. "You're telling us that the Cavils have achieved a superior rate of fire that gives them a distinct edge in ship-to-ship combat. Sure, I can handle that … no problem. But are you also telling us that the front lines in this war have shifted to another dimension? Because if that's the case, then the President is absolutely right: only 'bizarre' doesn't even begin to cover what we're talking about here."

"No," Gaius objected, "this part of it actually does make sense. Years ago, I did a project for Defense. They wanted me to come up with a way to mask the electronic wake of our ships as they came out of jump. The ministry was afraid that the Cylons would be able to track individual battlestars on the basis of their unique electronic signatures. The problem that Lieutenant Gaeta is describing sounds fairly similar. Cavil's hybrids have found a way to avoid detection; or, if you prefer an Aquarian submariner's analogy, we can't 'ping' them. However, they are able to follow the Major's wake as he moves in and out of V-world." Gaius frowned for a second as his agile mind raced through the possibilities. "What is the Major doing to avoid detection," he queried.

"Maintaining a _very_ low profile," Felix conceded. "Right now, it's the only way we can level the Pyramid court."

"Is it working," Shelly pressed.

"We're here, sister," Cynthia bluntly answered. "Two weeks ago, I would not have given odds on our safe return."

"So, at the present time we are at both a serious tactical and strategic disadvantage," Adama summarized. "Sonja and I will deal with the tactical issues when she returns from her shore leave, and I'm confident that in time we will be able to solve them. But I see no way for us to address our strategic dilemma. Precisely because this matter is completely out of our hands, we now have to ask ourselves: is New Caprica so at risk that we should begin evacuating the colony?"

"And where would we go, Admiral?" Sharon Baltar spoke up for the first time. "There are only so many canyons leading into the nebula, and the Ones must have Raiders picketing the various exits. We cannot evade contact, so wherever we go, they will pursue us."

"But if they know we're here, doesn't it stand to reason that they will eventually find us?" Gaius' highly tuned sense of self-preservation had already begun to kick in.

"It's a big nebula," Billy Keikeya noted thoughtfully. "It might take them several lifetimes to stumble upon a world this well hidden."

"So, you see us as the proverbial needle in the haystack?"

"Yes, Admiral; just because you know it's there, it doesn't automatically follow that you're going to be able to find it."

"Mr. President, the question of settlement is political, not military." Bill's instinct was to dance around this particular issue. "It's your call."

"Admiral, I should have thought that the survival of the human species was _the_ quintessential military problem. Are you passing the cubit?"

"Yes, Mr. President, I am.

"Well, I would still appreciate your input. You realize, of course, that I have no choice but to take this entire matter before the Quorum?"

"Sharon's point is well taken. We cannot flee pointlessly across space and hope to escape. Our best option is to wait for Kara's return, and use the available time to continue repairs to the fleet. If we do leave this planet, we want to know where we're going, and we want our ships to get there in as few jumps as possible. In the meantime, I would advise your National Security Advisor to hold evacuation drills, and organize resistance cells modeled on the old Soldiers of the One. Make sure that our marines don't get bunched up in the settlement, and continue to cache weapons out in the wilderness."

"Dad, we're way ahead of you," Lee countered.

"I know, son. But the question is: how far ahead of the Cavils are you?"

. . .

Even with the swift current at their back, the journey northward had taken six long days, but Boomer had put them to good use. Her adoptive family was, by local standards, rich and powerful—but far more importantly, it was well-educated. The tempestuous Thuyu was distantly related to the family that governed the entire valley, and she had a resumé that would have put any Colonial priestess to shame.

_But then,_ Sharon reflected, _these people need every priest and priestess they can lay their hands on because, compared with the gods of this land, the Colonial pantheon seems pretty pathetic. And the Cavils would really be in their element here. Yeah, they'd probably try to carve out sinecures for themselves with the priesthood of Sobek. Waiting on crocodiles hand and foot, mummifying the damned things … they would revel in the absurdity of it all. On this world, humanity has definitely ventured far off the beaten track. _

Thuyu was a Singer of Hathor, one of the innumerable national divinities, but Boomer was increasingly convinced that the older woman couldn't carry a tune, much less sing a song. The job seemed like the perfect resumé enhancer for an obvious social climber—a prestigious title with no real duties attached. But to her credit, the female did take her local responsibilities seriously. She was at once Chief of the Entertainers, and Superintendent of the Harem for Min, the town's protective divinity. More intriguingly, Thuyu held the same posts in the capital city of Thebes, only this time in the service of its tutelary god, Amun.

In her innocence, Sharon had pressed Yuya to explain what possible use a solar cult could have for a harem, never mind entire troupes of entertainers. The older man, who was himself a Prophet of Min, had responded with a cynical laugh. The god who ruled the Two Lands had acquired many human wives, and he had chosen generously to house them in the temple precincts, where they earned their keep by weaving the linen garments favored by the elite. As for what went on in the long hours of the night …

Boomer smiled at the memory. Yuya was intelligent, but he was also quiet, thoughtful, and irreverent. Between them, Yuya and Twosret had devoted many hours to teaching her to speak their language, and now she was learning to read and write the exotic script that was the province of priests and scribes alone. The syllabary was a complex and often capricious mix of pictograms and ideograms, but mercifully, the predominantly religious texts were also highly formulaic. She had memorized many of them in their entirety.

Yuya had gone to elaborate lengths to make sure that Boomer understood the difference between a prophet and a priest, and from the beginning he had stressed that he was not native to the valley, but from one of the desert lands somewhere well to the east. In turn, as she grew more confident in her mastery of the language, she had entrusted him with the details of her own strange existence and far-flung travels. He had accepted it all at face value; indeed, nothing that she said, however outrageous, seemed to surprise him. Unable to reconcile the prophet's sophistication with the primitive culture and low technology that daily engulfed her, Boomer had grown steadily more nervous. She was missing something. She knew that it was important, but she had run out of clues to decipher, and still she could find no solution to the mystery.

Yuya and Twosret, with a grumbling Anen in unwilling attendance, had embarked upon this journey to answer Boomer's questions. The prophet had assured her that all would become clear inside the shattered homes of the gods far to the north. And now, as they coasted in to shore, Sharon could at last understand the reason for his confidence. Throughout their voyage pyramids had occasionally loomed on the western horizon, but here they were densely clustered, some of them well maintained while others had fallen victim to the ravages of time … and the covetous hands of man.

"_Tomb robbers,"_ Yuya had sadly observed only moments before. _"The gods have ruled this land for thousands of generations, and some of them have suffered neglect. There is vast wealth here to tempt the greedy wretch, and the stone itself is a tempting prize for those with neither the time nor the inclination to quarry anew."_

The four of them came ashore at an abandoned temple, but the causeway that led out into the desert was still largely intact. Boomer could feel it now, the sheer weight of antiquity pressing down upon her shoulders, eons of time looming like mountains all around her, threatening to swallow her whole.

_This place is old,_ she belatedly realized. _It was old when the twelve colonies of man were young. How much time has passed on this world? How long have humans flourished here?_

At the end of the causeway, they passed through another temple, also long abandoned. Yuya led them outside, to the remains of an unpretentious chapel abutting the north face of the pyramid. He explained that herein lay the entrance to the pyramid proper. In its hidden chambers, Tiy would find the answers that she so eagerly sought.

With torches in hand, the quartet embarked upon the last leg of their journey. The corridors were so narrow, and the ceiling overhead so close, that Boomer could only shuffle along with her head bowed and her knees painfully raised. But soon enough, they reached their destination. The simple chamber was empty save for a free-standing sarcophagus, whose lid had been casually thrust aside by thieves in search of treasure. But the walls and ceiling were what drew her eye. They were covered with glyphs, and the Cylon quickly realized that they were an archaic variant on the script that she had been studying. She could make out a few characters, but without Yuya here to guide her, Sharon readily conceded that she would need days if not weeks to translate the dense strands of text.

Yuya drifted over to stand in front of a spot on the chamber's west wall, and beckoned for Boomer to join him.

"Child, can you read any of this text?"

"Part of it," Boomer acknowledged as she fingered the ancient writing. _"You ascend with …"_

"_Sahu."_

"_You ascend with Sahu on the eastern side of the sky. You ascend with Sahu on the western side of the sky."_

"Sahu is a constellation … a belt of three bright stars …"

"_Orion," _Sharon breathed. She had cataloged the distinctive belt, and named it for the mythical hero, while still in orbit.

Yuya crossed to the opposite wall, and pointed to a cartouche. "Long ago," he stipulated, "there was a god-king named Teti."

Boomer concentrated on the long string of glyphs. _"Teti is pure," _she read haltingly,_ "so that he can receive for himself his pure place, which is in Heaven._

_Teti will remain; the …"_

"_Beautiful places."_

"_Teti will remain; the beautiful places of Teti will remain._

_Teti receives for himself his pure place, which is in the bow of the barque of Re._

_And the sailors who row Re, they also will row Teti._

_And the sailors who take Re over the horizon,_

_They also will take Teti over the horizon."_

Yuya retraced his steps to the west wall, and held his torch high in the air.

"_He goes forth to Heaven, among his brothers the gods."_

"You will find this line in the _ka_ dwellings of the gods Unas and Pepi as well. They are both nearby."

"_Take your place in Heaven, among the stars in Heaven," _Twosret chanted from another corner of the room. "There are many references here to the Great Journey, when the gods made their way to the stars."

Boomer's mouth fell open. Suddenly, it all made sense. From the beginning, she had assumed that star farers, whether human or cylon, had made their way to this world, and had brought their plants and animals with them. Since it was not physically possible for two different planets to share common DNA, this seemed the only way to account for the genetic evidence.

"_I was right," _she whispered more or less to herself, _"but for all the wrong reasons. I literally put the cart before the horse! This … this is the home world. Once, deep in the past, there was a high civilization here … one capable of interstellar flight. It's gone now, but it has left echoes in these writings, and now that I know what I'm looking for, perhaps I'll find traces of it in art and myth … the places where old legends die hard. Teti … Unas … Pepi … these are the true Lords of Kobol. And all of us, human and Cylon alike … we are all the children of Earth._

**Author's note: the Pyramid Texts cited here are, in order, utterances 442, 407, 337, and 245. I have followed the translation of Samuel A.B. Mercer (New York, London, and Toronto, 1952), although I have made minor revisions which accord with my own sense of the relevant hieroglyphs. **


	22. Chapter 22: Unfinished Business

CHAPTER 22

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

"Kara, are you sure you want to do this?"

Athena's gloved hands absorbed another rapid flurry of blows.

"You're damned straight I'm sure," Kara snarled. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead. She was nicely warmed up, and her practice jabs were all landing squarely in the center of Athena's upraised palms.

"And just for the record," she warned, "it's Starbuck. Little Miss Angst and Worry is taking the day off." Hunching her shoulders, bobbing and weaving, Starbuck extended her reach and began to put more power into her punches. She wanted to be ready when she stepped into the ring.

"But he's a Cylon, Kara." Athena was accustomed to dealing with her lover's multiple personalities, but she was also accustomed to following the collective's orders. No one on the _Adriatic_ ever acknowledged Starbuck's existence because the bitch had a death wish that could get them all killed.

"So was Leoben," Starbuck grunted as she continued to pour it on. "And in case you missed it, they hauled his ass out of the ring on a stretcher."

Exercising captain's privilege, Kara had been the first to take to the boxing ring, and she had shamed the Two into climbing into it with her. Leoben had cylon strength and reflexes, but it quickly became apparent that he had never fought anyone in his life. He kept his hands too low, and when he raised them to ward off the blows that Starbuck was raining down upon his face, his elbows were too far apart. She had gone after his exposed abdomen, and if a few of her rights had scored a little low … well, Starbuck had never been known to fight fair. Breaking his nose with a particularly vicious short right hook had been infinitely satisfying, and mouth guard or no mouth guard, she was sure that she had loosened at least a few of the bastard's teeth.

_So much for Kara Thrace and her special destiny_, Starbuck raged. _Maybe next time the bastard's in hack, he'll learn to keep his mouth shut._

"But Leoben doesn't know how to fight, and he didn't even try to defend himself. Papa Sam was a professional athlete, Kara; it's not the same thing."

"Just because he was a jock doesn't mean he knows how to fight," Starbuck shot back. "I'm going to beat on him like a drum."

Athena rolled her eyes, and stole another glance at the ring. When Kara had announced her decision to stage a boxing tournament, the Eight had privately wondered whether she was playing nursemaid to a lunatic or a moron. But Kara had been right: resentments quickly built up on a ship in deep space, and giving people a chance to vent had already done wonders for the ship's morale. What had profoundly shocked her, however, was discovering how many of her sisters were eager to settle scores with their fists.

"Kara, let's take a break. It looks like Sharon and Naomi are trying to kill each other."

Starbuck paused, and shifted her attention to the bout that was currently underway. The two Eights were a bloody mess. They had come out of the crèche at the same time, and had received exactly the same programming. Physically, they were mirror images of one another, so without training it was impossible for either to gain an advantage in the ring. And they both wanted Luke Hammond to father their babies.

Naomi came in with a wild roundhouse right, and it scored cleanly on her opponent's left cheek. More blood began to pour out of a cut beneath Sharon's eye.

But the infuriated Eight ignored the blood and the pain. Indeed, the blow only seemed to double her rage. With fire in her eyes, Sharon lunged forward. She put everything she had into a right uppercut, which connected solidly with Naomi's chin. The force of the blow lifted the Eight off her feet, and she sailed through the air to land on the canvas with a deafening thud.

Sharon pounced. She landed on her sister's stomach, and consumed with blood lust, began to pummel her around the face and shoulders. Rather than try and ward off the blows, Naomi was driving the side of her fist into Sharon's left ear, each punch landing with the force of a sledgehammer.

Starbuck laughed, and looking around the makeshift arena, spotted Deitra Symonds. "You're right, Athena; these two really are trying to kill each other. And the way it's going, they're both going to spend the next month in the infirmary. That's when Ponytail will make her move."

Kara gestured to the opposite side of the ring, where Deitra was lingering in the shadows behind a cluster of Sixes, some of whom had their own grudges to settle.

"_What? Do you mean that Swordsman has three women keen to lick that well-shaped ass of his? How does one guy get this lucky?" _Luke Hammond's chiseled good lucks and affable manner had impressed Athena, but not to the point where she was willing to kill one of her sisters on the off chance that he would consent to sleep with her.

"It's an unwritten rule of the service," Kara laughed again. "All female ECO's are required to fall in love with the jocks flying their birds. Young, old, handsome, ugly … it doesn't matter. The rule's the rule. And as for your sisters …"

Kara halted in mid-sentence, and reached for her glass of ambrosia. She took a large swallow, and crudely wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist.

"All you Eights want to do is frak," she continued. "And you really don't like competition. Personally, I love it. Every time one of you shows an interest in a human, the rest of you start sniffing him out. I suppose you're all trying to decide whether you're missing out on something special, or maybe … hell, I don't know … maybe, you just like stealing one another's men. But the end result is the same either way: I feel like the captain of a cruise liner that's run aground on a desert island. All the alpha females are running around snatching up the few available men, most of whom seem inclined to just stand aside and let the drama play out all around them."

"What a boost to the male ego," Athena exclaimed. "Tell me: do you think my two hapless sisters have any idea what Ponytail is up to?"

"They don't have a clue," Starbuck said dismissively. "Their pheromones are on high alert, but they lack the seductive charms of the average human female, never mind one of the Sixes. You Eights are just too damned transparent for your own good."

"The fight's over," Athena commented with a nod to the ring. Naomi was unconscious, but the referee was still having a hard time getting Sharon off of her.

"Looks like Howard could use some help," Kara judged. "What do you say? Should we give poor Mr. Kim a helping hand?"

. . .

"What do you think," Eric whispered into Six's ear.

"They're dispersed in a standard search pattern," Six whispered back. "Do you see the one that's trailing? If you're in hiding and the rest of the squad passes you by, then you think that you're safe. You move out into the open … and he comes up and takes you from behind."

"All right … yeah, sure … that's a good tactical deployment. But seeing _what_ they're doing doesn't tell us _why_ they're doing it. What in the name of Artemis is a full squad of centurions doing out here in the bush? We're more than a hundred miles upstream from the settlement. _What are they searching for?_"

"Not what … _who_."

"Oh, frak," Eric said as the truth suddenly dawned. _"They're looking for us!"_

"Yes … they're looking for us."

"_But why," _the young Sagittaron pressed. "I mean … we're not bothering anyone. We can't be that important. _Why does anyone even care?_"

"Does it matter? They're here, they're looking for us, and they won't quit until they find us. Centurions don't know how to quit. We have to go."

"Maybe they won't search the caves …"

"They will. It's just a matter of time."

"Yeah … yeah … you're right. _Frak! _Why did this have to happen when we were just starting to get comfortable? Now, we'll have to pack up all of our gear, and there's no way that we can carry all of the meat …"

"No … we'll have to leave a lot of things behind because we're going to have to move fast. Eric, you really don't appreciate how much danger we're in. Centurions are relentless, and unlike us, they don't need to sleep. As long as we're on this planet, they will just keep coming and coming. Eventually, they will achieve their objective—which is either to capture us, or kill us."

"_Frak! Six, what are we gonna do?"_

"The one thing no one could possibly have anticipated." Six's eyes were on fire with determination and purpose. "I can pilot a Heavy Raider, so we are going to double back to the settlement. We are going to steal a ship, and then we are going to leave. How do your fellow humans like to phrase it? _'We are going to put this rock in our rear view mirror'!_"

"_And the baby … my gods, if something goes wrong …" _

Eric Lackey was absolutely terrified. Six hadn't been able to keep anything down over the past four days, so they were both convinced that she was pregnant.

"Eric, even if they don't kill us, they will never let us keep this baby. Don't you know," she added bitterly, "you're a Sagittaron, and I'm a machine that's short-circuited. By definition, neither one of us is fit to be a parent."

"You're right," Eric conceded. "We have no choice; we've gotta run." A very determined expression washed across his face. "I love you, Six, and I want us to have this baby more than anything in the world. Maybe we'll have problems, but then again maybe we won't. All I know for sure is that we'll face everything that this miserable, rotten universe has to throw at us together. We'll show them … _we'll show them all what one Cylon and one human who love each other can do!_"

. . .

"Okay," Howard chortled, "that was fun! Now, let's just hope that these two Eights have got it out of their system because we're running short on surgical thread as it is! Anyway, next up is …"

A Six handed Kim a large metal box, and he began blindly to rummage around inside it. He pulled out a pair of highly polished dog tags.

"Kara Thrace! Captain, you're up, so pick your partner."

Starbuck leered knowingly at Athena, and climbed into the ring.

"Who's your partner, Captain?"

"Anders."

"_What?" _Sam wondered whether his ears were playing tricks on him. He could have sworn that Kara had just called him out.

"Get your butt up here, gramps. You and me … we've got some unfinished business to settle." Starbuck was dancing on her feet, shadow boxing her way around the ring.

A deathly silence descended upon the onlookers. Everyone present knew what this was about.

"Kara, you've got to be kidding me!" Sam was astonished at his granddaughter's audacity. "You're only half cylon, but I'm the real deal. If I make a mistake, you could get hurt real bad!"

"Your first big mistake, Sam, was being born … or have I got that wrong? How did they do it back on the good old home world, huh? Were you … _hatched_? Or maybe you came out of a test tube … who knows? Hell, I don't even care. Your second big mistake was betraying Caprica Six for a worthless piece of trash like Melania Peripolides. Now, most guys would have been content to stop right there, but no-o-o … you weren't satisfied. Uh-uh … not you, Sammy … no, you just had to go and get your little whore pregnant on top of everything else. So, instead of kicking her sorry ass all over this ring, which I was _really_ looking forward to, I'll have to settle for beating the crap out of you instead."

Sam flinched, and then a hard look settled in his eyes.

"The truth stings, doesn't it, asshole?"

"Sam," Melania was pleading; "don't let the bitch bait you! Don't give her what she wants!"

Ignoring her, Sam grabbed a roll of tape and tossed it to Luke Hammond. He held his fists out.

"Make them tight," he instructed.

Sam looked up into the ring, his anger now easily a match for Starbuck's.

"You want a fight, Kara? Well, guess what? _You've got one!_"

. . .

Standing in the kitchen of the riverside apartment that she shared with Apollo, nursing a cup of steaming hot tea while she tried to warm herself in the wan morning light, Creusa looked down curiously. Although she couldn't see it, she could feel the liquid that was pooling in the space between her legs. The dampness was uncomfortable.

_This is ridiculous. Cylons do not suffer from incontinence!_

She clenched her muscles, but the flow refused to cooperate. Now she could feel it dribbling down her legs, and when she stepped aside, there was a small puddle on the floor where she had been standing.

And then, she remembered.

"_Shevon?" _There was a tremor in her voice. The baby wasn't due for at least another week, and her husband had already been gone for a couple of hours. Gaeta's report had spooked them all, and New Caprica City was alive with rumors. If the Cavils were coming, then it was Lee Adama's job, as he had so colorfully put it to her two days earlier, to batten down the hatches.

The blond prostitute sauntered into the kitchen, and took in the situation at once. "Your water's broken," she casually remarked. "Have you had any contractions?"

"No, not yet … should we … should we go to the hospital?"

"Not unless you want to get some exercise," Shevon laughed. "Cottle isn't going to admit you until the contractions start, and that could be another twelve to twenty-four hours."

"Mommy, is the baby coming?" Paya had wandered in to see what was going on, and she was now staring at Creusa's belly with wide-eyed fascination. Shevon had taken advantage of Creusa's pregnancy to school her daughter in some of the more elementary facts of life.

"Soon, sweetie, soon … but I don't think it will be right this minute. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Juice, mommy; I love juice!"

Shevon smiled at her daughter, and opened the refrigerator door. "Go ahead and finish your tea," she called over her shoulder. "I'll help you change your clothes, and we can fold up a diaper and use it to absorb your flow. It's not going to stop for a while."

"And to think that I was once the most feared warrior in the entire collective," Creusa lamented.

"Ah, how the mighty have fallen," Shevon laughed.

"It's God's will," the blond Cylon retorted in a very firm voice. "He wishes us to create life, not destroy it. This child is a testament to His plans for us all."

"Amen to that," Shevon replied. If Creusa wanted to believe that it took an act of divine intervention to bring a child into the world, the human was not about to rob her of her illusions.

Creusa picked up her cup, and had just started to turn round when the first contraction hit. It felt as if a giant, invisible hand had stolen its way into her uterus, grabbed a hold of the baby, and twisted it hard. She doubled over in pain, the cup flying out of her hand to shatter on the floor. A moment later, she screamed, although more in surprise than in pain.

Shevon was instantly at her side, wrapping her arms around the Cylon's waist to steady her.

"Is that what I think it was," she asked when Creusa appeared to have regained her composure. But her breathing was harsh and ragged.

"I think so," Creusa finally managed. "Now, can we go to the hospital?"

"Cylons," Shevon said with an exasperated sigh. "Why is it that you can't ever do anything the easy way?" She steadied her companion while she thought about what to do next. "Can you walk," she finally asked, "or do you want the centurion to carry you?"

"Now, is 'Rene coming," Paya impatiently asked. She was tugging insistently on the hem of her mother's blouse, demanding attention.

"Yes, sweetheart; she's just told us that, ready or not, she's on her way!"

"I can walk," Creusa affirmed after she took a few, tentative steps. "But why do I feel like I'm about to step on a land mine?"

"That's a pretty good analogy," Shevon grinned; "in fact, it's better than most. Now, normally I'd say that we have at least fifteen minutes before your next contraction hits, but this kid really does seem to have a mind of her own, so we'd better get moving. Paya … grab your coat, honey; this may take a while."

. . .

As he eased his way through the ropes and into the ring, Sam Anders could feel the heavy silence that had descended upon the deck. It was like a shroud, thick and clinging. When the bell rang, his back was turned to Kara. He was waving encouragement to Melania, all but ordering her not to worry.

Sam had a lot to think about. Kara was behaving … well … like Kara. She was an emotional mess, and she never tired of taking out her problems on others. In childhood she would have benefited from rules and parental discipline, but what she had received instead was long years of physical and psychological abuse. The predictable result was an adult personality that was starved for love yet at the same time craved punishment. Rachel and Miriam loved Kara, and they indulged her, but the Sixes had never found the balance. Rather than saying 'no' to their only child, they were relying upon Athena to keep her in check.

_But it's not sex that Kara needs … it's a good spanking. Now, how do I give her the whipping that she needs without putting her in the infirmary?_

Sam turned around, and a right cross caught him on the left side of his jaw. Kara had put everything she had into the punch. He bounced off the ropes and crashed to the canvas. Dazed, he looked up to see her looming over him.

"Get up, gramps. We're just getting started." Kara danced away, contemptuously allowing him to climb back onto his feet.

. . .

_Sixes never seem to be in a hurry,_ Shevon mused. _They don't panic, and no one's ever seen them sweat. There's never a hair out of place. Their makeup is always perfect. Well, until now …_

With their ever vigilant centurion in tow, Shevon, Paya and Creusa had begun slowly to walk in the direction of the hospital. They had not, however, made it more than ten meters when another pair of centurions came hustling up to converse silently with their brother. They quickly fanned out in a loose triangle formation, not to protect the pregnant Cylon but to clear a path for her.

Or so, at least, Shevon fervently hoped.

Forty meters later, Paya spotted another Six in the distance, and raced off to share the good news. The long-legged blond listened for a moment before actually _rushing_ to Creusa's side.

_Amazing!_

Gaping like a fish out of water, the awestruck Six had been on the verge of hyperventilating when Shevon had had a flash of inspiration and encouraged her to run ahead to the hospital.

"_Might as well let D'Anna and the Doc know what's happening …"_

The Six had torn off as if the Furies were in hot pursuit.

_Try amazing times two!_

After that, Sixes came running up from every direction … and her party's progress slowed to a crawl reminiscent of downtown Caprica City at rush hour. Shevon soon found herself barking out orders to all and sundry.

"_Somebody get on the wireless, contact Lee, and tell him to haul his ass to the hospital RFN! Let him know that he's about to become a father, and remind him that he doesn't want to miss all the fun!"_

A good half dozen Sixes had scurried off in search of a wireless.

"_I want someone to notify Colonial One of the impending birth, and have them contact Shelly Adama. She wants to witness the festivities!"_

Two more Sixes peeled off and hurried on their way.

"_Does anyone know where Playa Palacios is? Well, don't just stand there! Go find her! And while you're at it, see if you can locate D'Anna and her cameraman … you know … film at eleven? This is big news, people; move like you've got a purpose!"_

Another knot of Sixes detached themselves from the carnival that was slowly winding its way down Main Street, and headed off at her command.

_Gods! I never knew that being a general was so much fun!_

And then Creusa doubled over in pain as the next contraction hit, this one about three times stronger than its predecessor.

. . .

Sam walked straight into a pair of quick left jabs, and his head snapped back. Kara was well muscled, and she had put in a lot of time on the speed bag. She had catlike reflexes, and she knew what she was doing.

He replied with a left jab of his own, and then telegraphed a slow, roundhouse right, not really expecting it to connect. Sam was looking for information: would Kara slip the punch, or catch it on her gloves or shoulders?

Starbuck ducked beneath the blow, and countered with a devastating combination. She lashed out at Sam's exposed gut with a hard right, and followed it up with a left cross that caught him cleanly on the jaw. Anders went down in a heap for the second time in less than thirty seconds.

"Guess now we all know why you lost that last playoff game to Aerilon," Starbuck jeered. "You were just another washed up jock … a has-been who was hoping against hope that he could hang on to his underwear commercials. You're pathetic, Sammy. You know that? _You're frakkin' pathetic!_"

"_Get up, Sam!" _Melania was screaming at him, raw hatred for Kara Thrace distorting her normally placid features. _"Show the bloody bitch who's boss!"_

"Yeah, Sammy; show me what you got! Show me how one of the fabulous Final Five gets it done!"

Sam climbed to his feet, and with renewed determination closed in. They exchanged ineffectual jabs, and then Kara made her first mistake. Unable to control her temper, she threw a looping right that missed, and left her badly off balance. Sam responded with a straight right to the solar plexus. For once he held nothing back, and Kara staggered away, still on her feet but folding up like an accordion that had seen much better days.

"_Yeah,"_ Melania yelled; _"hit her again! Go on, Sam … punch her frakkin' lights out!"_

"Are you happy now, Kara? Is this what you wanted?" Sam was standing in the middle of the ring, just looking at her, love and disgust mingling with the adrenaline and the sweat, ignoring the blood that was oozing out of a cut on his lower lip. He advanced gingerly, looming over her, hoping that she would have the good grace to concede that she was beaten. But inside, he knew it wasn't going to happen. Kara Thrace Six would die before she would ever admit defeat.

Wordlessly, still doubled over in a crouch, Starbuck dropped her right shoulder and threw a hard left jab into Sam's kidney. Rearing up, she came in above his guard with another short right hook, catching him once again on the chin. Blood streamed out of the cut on his mangled lip, and began trickling to the canvas.

The punch dropped Sam to his knees, but he quickly rebounded to his feet. He circled in, throwing one left jab after another, using up a lot of energy but forcing Kara to back away, trapping her in the corner. She couldn't counterpunch, and he sensed that her guard was beginning to weaken. Slowly, Sam's superior cylon strength was wearing her down.

Starbuck shuffled her feet, and edged to her right. She _had_ to get out of the corner. If she couldn't get off the ropes, she would be at Sam's mercy.

Anders bided his time, willing Kara to use her left. If she overreached, he could end this fight in a matter of seconds.

Still trying to work her way out of the corner, Starbuck finally countered with a series of short, right jabs. She wanted Sam to twist toward her as she continued to ease to her right. Patiently, she waited for an opening—and when it finally came, she lashed out with a left hook.

She missed.

Sam had been keeping his right in reserve, waiting for just this moment. He pounded his fist into Kara's exposed left side, and he could feel the ribs giving way.

Blood exploded out of Starbuck's mouth, and her guard dropped.

Sam went for the kill. He hammered her with another right, and followed up with a combination that left her wobbling on knees that could no longer support her weight. A right hook that landed high on her left cheek sent Starbuck spinning into the canvas. She landed on her belly, gasping for air and desperately trying to claw her way back onto her feet.

. . .

"We've got company," D'Anna calmly announced as she continued to parse the data flowing through the stream. "Two baseships inbound at high speed; they're launching Raiders."

"Break off the attack and recall our birds," Natalie ordered. "Instruct the reserve element to maintain a defensive perimeter 9 MU's out until we're away, then disengage and jump to the standby coordinates."

Leoben acknowledged with a curt nod, and forwarded the command to the hybrid.

"It took them long enough," the Six muttered to Hoshi, who was standing at her side. "I was beginning to wonder whether they had given up the chase."

"We haven't made it easy for them," the XO pointed out. "Dispersed targets … hit and run tactics: it's classic guerilla warfare. The only thing they know for sure is that we're trying to take down the resurrection network. They can't scatter enough assets to protect it against a concentrated attack, so they're reduced to guessing where we'll strike next. We should consider ourselves lucky that they caught up with us this early in the game."

"Two baseships, though," Natalie mused. "We designed this trap for one. Do we have the firepower to deal with two?"

"They're both Mark II's," Bierns concluded, the disappointment evident in his voice. He was openly trolling the shoals of V-world, bait for a trap that was meant to snare one of Cavil's next generation basestars. "Confirming … we didn't attract one of the IIB's; these are the same two that screened the resurrection ship in the last battle."

The First Born had no difficulty locating his hybrid sisters. This time, the psychic spoor that marked their passage through the dimension ships transited in jump space was as visible to him as a lone Raider popping up on _Galactica's _DRADIS screen.

"What about the next generation hybrids, John?" Natalie was keenly aware of the fact that Cavil could well be baiting a trap _for them_. "Think it through: is there _anything_ to suggest that those ships are out there, waiting to pounce?" The Six was desperate for hard intelligence; she couldn't afford to lead her small force into another back yard brawl with a tactically superior enemy.

"No … no … and these two aren't behaving as if there's another force in hiding. I can feel them reaching out to one another … coordinating their advance. They certainly believe that they're on their own."

"_The hybrids are reaching out to one another?" _The Sharon at the tactical console was aghast. "At the start of the war, they couldn't cooperate this way. _What have we unleashed?_"

"If you believe in the cycles, and take our myths seriously … something like the Titans." Hoshi's response went straight to the point. "The hybrids are a different order of intelligence, something far superior to us because they possess at least one extra sense. If you want to give these two names … call them Phoebe and Rhea."

"They're evolving … adapting … coming into their own." There was obvious pride in John Bierns' voice. He loved his sisters, even if they were fighting for the wrong side.

"Releasing them from Tartarus may well be the biggest mistake we've ever made," Hoshi protested, continuing the mythic analogy. He was convinced that nothing good could come of tasking the hybrids to fight their battles for them. "When lesser beings invite the gods to sup at their table, we mere mortals have a nasty habit of ending up as the main course."

"Unless we love our creations, and keep them close," John retorted. "Ellen Tigh preaches that particular sermon well, and anyone who ignores it does so at his own peril. The Cavils have always treated my sisters like witless slaves. One day, perhaps, their mistake will cost them dearly."

"Gentlemen, this is all very interesting, but I could use your advice here." Natalie was in the stream, following the progress of her Raiders. "We are seconds away from jump. Are we going to spring the trap, or do we give these two a pass?"

Bierns dove back into V-world, searching for one particular signature—and not finding it.

"They don't have a resurrection ship with them … at least, not within range."

"That's odd," Hoshi remarked. "It's not like the Cavils to take to the high wire without a safety net."

"They may have been able to replace some of the servers that we've destroyed," D'Anna suggested. "Remember, our intelligence in this area has never been good because the Ones systematically denied the rest of us access to the system. And what little we do know is now badly out of date."

"Well, they don't have a server in the system where our own resurrection ship is lying in wait, so if they do come after us, we'll have the home court advantage. What do you think, Colonel?" Bierns had a huge grin on his face. "Shall we roll the Hard Six?"

"They won't fall for this trick twice," Hoshi cautiously replied. His head was telling him that they should back away … wait for better odds—but Bierns' enthusiasm was infectious, and in any event Louis was tired of running. "Okay, Major; we'll do it your way. What is it that the spider said to the fly? _'Won't you step into my parlor'?_"

"Close enough," John agreed. "Now, let's see if the Ones will blindly follow wherever I choose to lead."

_And let's pray to every god we know that their resurrection ship hasn't given us the slip, _Hoshi added under his breath.

The coordinates having long since been calculated, as one the Cylons gathered around the central console silently sent the command through the stream.

_JUMP!_

Natalie's baseship reemerged on the edge of an asteroid field in a star system eight light years distant. Here hundreds of Raiders from Pelea's baseship were already scattered across a vast, three dimensional chessboard, and they were all armed with anti-ship missiles. Natalie instantly launched her own Raiders, further tightening the deadly web that Kat and Leoben had so carefully spun. If the Cavils continued recklessly to harry them, and came out of jump less than 30 MU's from their present position, the trap would slam shut.

. . .

Starbuck was down, but she was damned if she was out—not while there was life left in her. It hurt even to struggle to her knees, but it hurt a damned sight worse to glance up and see Anders standing over her with a triumphant smirk on that pretty boy face of his.

_When you fight a man, he's not your friend. How many times did the DI shove that one down our throats? Yeah … and never, ever, give the other guy an even break …_

Still down, and with her head bowed in seeming defeat, Starbuck pivoted smartly and leg whipped Sam, catching him squarely above the left ankle. The startled Cylon crashed to the canvas, and he had just started to rise when Kara attacked a second time, kicking him viciously in the side of the head. Pin wheeling through the air, Sam ended up flat on his belly, with the world spinning all around him.

"Oops! Did I break the rules?"

Sam was down … it hurt even to struggle to his knees. But it hurt a damned sight worse to glance up and see Kara standing over him … taunting him, with that contemptuous look on her face. He bounded to his feet and charged straight at her, throwing one punch after another. She caught him in the knee with a second kick, and in the groin with a third.

"Only losers fight fair, Sammy. That's why the Picon Panthers always had your number. _'Whatever it takes' _was never a part of your vocabulary."

Starbuck tried to kick him in the ribs, but Sam anticipated the move and trapped her leg in midair. He spun her around and drove his fist into her right kidney before catching her from behind in a bear hug. He tightened his grip, squeezing the air out of her.

"You call this fighting, Kara? I could kill you now, in less time than it's taken me to tell you about it."

Starbuck's only response was blindly to head butt him, and she got lucky. She could feel Sam's nose fracturing beneath the blow. Blood gushed out of his shattered left nostril and began to drip steadily down her back. Twisting out of his grasp, she pivoted once more, and drove a hard right hook into Sam's bloodied face. What was left of his nose dislocated nicely, and Anders went down like a stone. This time, he didn't get up.

. . .

"_No-o-o-o … ah … ah … God, why is this happening to me?"_

"Is that a rhetorical question," Cottle sarcastically inquired, "or do you want to hear my mini-lecture on the birds and the bees?"

Creusa was still on her feet, but barely, and she was squeezing Apollo's hand so hard that he reckoned it was about one contraction away from ending up in a cast. They'd been at it for hours, so many that he had lost track of time, but perversely the Six had only gotten stronger as she had become more irritable.

_And right now she's so pissed that I wouldn't fancy a centurion's chances in an arm wrestling contest._

"Creusa, you've got to concentrate on your breathing! You're not doing any of the things we practiced!"

"_You concentrate on my breathing, you bastard! And if you ever come near me again …"_

"That's the spirit," Cottle laughed. He was standing at the foot of the bed, arms folded, with Ishay on his left and one of the nurse Eights on his right. "Don't hold anything back, Six. This is your one chance to tell your husband exactly what you think of him!"

"Doctor Cottle … really … don't encourage her!" Ishay never ceased to be amazed at how insensitive Major Cottle could be when his patients were in stress. She kept telling herself that it was all an exercise in carefully crafted reverse psychology that was meant to give them a bit of perspective, but she couldn't shake the feeling that at times he was simply being a callous bastard.

"Creusa, you can do this!" Lee was beginning to get desperate. "Remember … short-short-long … just like we practiced!"

"_Lee-e-e-e-e,"_ Creusa shrieked; she would have sworn that her latest contraction had begun over three hours ago.

"_Watch me,"_ he yelled. _"Just do what I do!" _Lee began frantically breathing for the both of them, two short inhalations followed by a long, cleansing breath. He did it over and over again.

"I'm going out for a smoke," Cottle growled, "and then I'm going to look in on a few patients who have real, honest-to-gods ailments. If Apollo hyperventilates, have one of the centurions carry him out to the waiting room. One of his sisters-in-law can hold his hand; gods know, there are enough of them out there!" Sherman walked out in disgust, muttering something about '_drama queens' _under his breath.

"You're doing well, Creusa," Ishay said soothingly. "Your contractions are now coming about every two and a half minutes, and this one lasted a full seventy-five seconds. Now, lie down and let me measure your cervix."

Creusa gratefully complied, blessing every second of the relief that she knew would end all too soon.

"Eight centimeters," Ishay announced. "At ten, you will have dilated sufficiently to enter the transition phase. Be patient. Work with Lee, and this will all be over in less than an hour."

"_An hour," _Creusa yelled in disbelief. "An hour … _another hour_ … I want this baby to be born _right this frakking minute!_"

"_Lee-e-e-e-e!_"

"Bear down, Creusa!" Lee was trying to stay calm, but a dogfight with twenty Raiders would have been less stressful. "When the contraction hits, push!"

"No, Lee," Ishay gently corrected; "if she starts pushing too soon, she could rupture her uterus. Creusa, don't push until I tell you, and that won't be until you're in the birthing pool."

"How long, Ishay?" Creusa was fighting for air, taking it in in huge, ragged gasps. She was all but begging for deliverance: _"how long?"_

Ishay idly glanced up at the observation booth, and nodded silent encouragement to Shelly Adama, whose own delivery date now lay just a few weeks away. Shevon was seated dutifully at her side, her daughter sleeping soundly on her lap. Ishay also recognized Lida, the Six with the improbably long and heavy hair, but the other Sixes attending the birth were just that—anonymous and equally blond copies with little to distinguish them from Phryne, the first Six and the template for their model. The Cylons were all staring in rapt fascination at the scene unfolding beneath them, and the nurse wondered whether some of them were so appalled by the messy and painful process of birth that they would swear off sex for the rest of their lives. Well, she couldn't blame them if they did.

"Not long," she crooned. She looked at Lee Adama, whose eyes had grown so large that they were all but bugging out of his head. "Not long," she repeated sympathetically.

. . .

Standing over the unconscious Six, Howard Kim slowly counted to ten before calling the fight for her bleached blond rival. He figured that he could count to a hundred, and it still wouldn't make a cubit's worth of difference. They'd have to peel this one off the canvas.

"You'd better put an ice pack on that eye," he told the survivor. The Six was covered in blood, some of it her own, and she seemed a bit wobbly on her pins. "And that was one hell of a fight," he added gratuitously.

Howard meant it. An enraged Six was not a pretty sight, and these two had both decided that if Kara didn't have to play by the rules, neither did they. The bout had quickly degenerated into a Tauron style cage match, with the usual assortment of flying elbows and feet, and absolutely no rules. He hadn't even bothered with the bell.

"All right," he finally announced; "the fun's over. Everybody get your booze and your dog tags, and let's get out of here."

"We still have time," D'Anna called out. She slipped easily through the ropes and entered the ring. "What's your hurry?"

Howard looked at her curiously. D'Anna was the only Three on the ship, and she was the quintessential loner. She didn't mingle with the Twos, Sixes and Eights, and she had shown no interest in mating with any of the humans, male or female. She always wore the same flowing white dress, and she never fussed with her hair or bothered with makeup. She was so quiet that it was easy to forget that she was even there.

That was about to end.

D'Anna removed her dress, and draped it casually over one of the top ropes. Howard Kim's jaw dropped.

"_Holy frak," _he heard one of the male bystanders exclaim.

_Yeah … that just about covers it,_ Howard dazedly thought.

D'Anna was wearing a thin, one-piece jerkin that stretched from her ample bosom to mid-thigh. But fully two-thirds of her creamy breasts were already on display, and the remaining flesh seemed eager to escape the confinement of its leather prison. A few tightly cinched eyelets were all that stood in the way.

The Three kicked off her shoes, and sent them flying out of the ring.

"_Oh, shit,"_ Athena mumbled. You didn't have to be an oracle to foresee where this was headed.

"Well … um … yeah … well … uh … _okay, sure_." Howard Kim had absolutely no idea what was going on. "Who … uh … um … who's your partner?"

"Starbuck."

"_What?" _Kara was so shocked that the ambrosia she was currently drinking exploded out of her mouth. _"You want to fight me? What the hell …"_

"That's right, dear," D'Anna calmly replied. "And let's do it your way—no gloves … no shoes … no rules."

"A catfight at the old cylon corral," Starbuck mocked. She yanked off her gloves, tossed them aside, and began pulling the tape off with her teeth. She couldn't count the number of times that she had beaten the crap out of some asshole in a bare knuckle barroom brawl. This promised to be fun. Mentally, she gave herself a quick once over.

_A few cracked ribs on the left side … that's no big deal. Just don't let her go there, and you'll be okay. . . . Should I ask if she's got a spare outfit squirreled away? I mean, really, this one's right up there with Six's leather and chains rig, but aunt Three's got the ultimate pair of knockers to go with it. . . . Gods, check this out! Over half the guys on the deck are slobbering all over themselves, and Fischer's hard on is so long you could use it as a spear. . . ._

"Nice outfit," Starbuck conceded as she stepped warily into the ring. She didn't even know whether D'Anna was right or left handed. "Did you get to play the Amazon queen back in high school?"

"I was never in high school, Kara, but I appreciate the compliment. And yes … I do fancy myself the Amazon queen."

The two women circled each other. Starbuck was acutely aware of the fact that D'Anna had had ample opportunity to study her fighting style, but in turn she knew absolutely nothing about her opponent.

_She's big, but she can't be fast on her feet. I'll dance in, land a few jabs, then dance out of reach … make her come after me. Counterpunch … counterpunch … wear her down …_

Starbuck darted in, and threw a right jab. D'Anna turned into the punch, intercepting it with her left shoulder. But instead of backing away or trying to score with a right, the Three continued her turn, and Starbuck found her second jab landing ineffectually in the center of D'Anna's back. Her danger sense kicked in, but it was a fraction of a second too late. D'Anna had already pivoted on her left foot, and as she spun she was also rising into the air, her right leg cocked and waiting well above Kara's guard.

D'Anna struck with the speed of an angry serpent, and her leg kick caught Starbuck squarely in the lungs. The Three came down in a graceful crouch, and rose elegantly to her feet.

Starbuck sailed several feet through the air, and landed on her back in an undignified heap. She was far more embarrassed than hurt, but she opted to stay down and take stock of her present situation. It didn't look good. In fact, it looked downright awful. Memories of the whipping that she had received at the hands of the Six in the Delphi museum coursed uninvited through her mind.

_Gods, damn … aunt Three would make mincemeat out of that Six! Yeah, there might once have been something prowling the night on Leonis that could stand up to her, but I wouldn't want to bet on it. Now, how do I get out of this mess with my reputation for being a hard ass still intact?_

. . .

"_Live, from the stands overlooking the delivery room inside the maternity ward of the New Caprica City hospital complex, this is Playa Palacios! We're here today with Shevon Goodson, everybody's favorite fifty cubit whore, who has been coaching Creusa Adama through the perils of pregnancy and the living horror that is childbirth. Coach, it looks like we're heading into the final period. How's your star player holding up?"_

"_Well, Playa, I'd have to say that Creusa is doing very, very well. As you know, cylon pregnancies are never easy, but Creusa is truly a team player. She hasn't killed anybody yet, and that's quite remarkable when you consider that she has been having contractions at less than two minute intervals for the last seventeen days."_

"_Have they found her placenta yet?"_

"_No, but Doctor Cottle swears that it is still somewhere in the room. The latest theory is that someone mistook it for a plate of spaghetti marinara during that power outage three days ago, and ate it. He's waiting patiently for the guilty party to cough it up. I mean that literally."_

"_I see … or rather, I don't see. As a long-time believer in the cult of placentophagia, after Hera's birth I took advantage of the opportunity to sample a bit of Sharon Agathon's placenta, and it tasted like strawberries. No one could possibly confuse a cylon placenta with spaghetti."_

"_What can I say, Playa? Clearly, somebody fumbled the placenta, but this close to the goal it can take a long time to peel off the bodies and discover who has possession. What did you see on instant replay?"_

"_Well, you can clearly see it coming out before Creusa's knee hit the ground, but after three solid days of reviewing all 127 available camera angles, the booth officials are still waiting for a call from the field. This afternoon, Romo Lampkin filed a writ of habeas placenta in an effort to speed things up."_

"_So, now it's in the courts? What a relief! The hybrids will surely expedite a case of this importance! We can expect to receive a definitive answer in eleven or twelve years at the most!"_

"_I don't see Doc Cottle down on the floor. Shevon, how can you run the next play when the captain of your team's taken himself out of the game? Are you really comfortable executing this offense with an untested rookie like Layne Ishay at the controls?"_

"_We are so fortunate to have Layne Ishay on our team! Yes, she was a sixth round pick, and she was cut by three other battlestars, but she's spent a lot of time studying film. She knows what she's doing, and she's worked hard to improve her game. If Doc Cottle doesn't have enough nicotine in his system to get back in there, I'm confident that Ishay will get this baby onto the board!"_

"_One last question, Shevon: should we be concerned that Lee Adama has gone completely comatose? Isn't he letting the team down at the worst possible moment?"_

"_No … no … men can always be counted on to fumble the baby, so from the beginning our game plan has been to park him on the sidelines. After all, men are only good for one thing, and most of them can't even do that very well. . . ." _

"Lee …"

Apollo could feel a hand roughly shaking his shoulder.

"Damn it, Apollo, either get your frakkin' head in the game or get the hell out of my delivery room!"

Lee recognized Doc Cottle's voice, and he exhaled a loud sigh of relief. The grouch was back on the field, and he didn't seem any more irritated than usual.

"Lee, you fell asleep, but we need you to assist your wife into the birthing pool. It's time."

Apollo opened his eyes, and discovered that it was Ishay who was prodding him.

"Uh … sorry, Ishay; I must have been dreaming."

"I can feel the crown of Cyrene's head; it's just inside the cervical opening. We want Creusa to push with the next contraction. Two or three more, and it will all be over. I don't think you want to sleep through your daughter's birth."

"Thanks, Ishay; gods, what would we do without you?"

Lee helped Creusa into the pool and then he knelt at her side, close enough to hold her hand and whisper encouragement yet well out of Cottle's way. His eyes never left Creusa's face, and when the time came he urged her to push for all that she was worth.

Time stopped for Creusa Adama. She plunged into the depths of all the caring and love that she found in Apollo's eyes, knowing that he was a good husband and, for all his doubts, would make a good father.

A loud and angry scream interrupted Lee's reverie. He looked up to see Cottle tying off the umbilical cord, while Ishay was gently wrapping the baby in a blanket.

_My daughter …_

"_You did it, Creusa; you did it! We're parents!"_

Up in the gallery, Shelly reached out to clasp Shevon's hand. For the first time, a Six had given birth to a child conceived in an act of love.

"_Lee? Cyrene? Is she all right? Is she perfect?"_

Apollo heard the longing in Creusa's voice. He smiled, leaned in to kiss her gently on the forehead, and then got up to go and take a peek at his daughter.

"One minute, and she scores nine," Ishay said.

"_Is everything all right," _Lee squeaked. He was desperately afraid that something had gone horribly wrong at the last minute.

"Everything's fine, Lee; ten is a perfect score, but we never grade anyone that high. After all, Doctor Cottle would be very unhappy if parents walked out of here thinking that their kids were perfect. Now, we have to repeat the test at the five minute mark, but would you like to hold your daughter? Do you remember how?"

Lee silently crooked his arms, and Ishay deposited the tiny and infinitely precious bundle in his hands. He stared down at pinkish skin and eyes tightly shut, and in that first moment fell so completely in love that he knew his life would never be the same.

_Cyrene … my daughter._

"_She's beautiful, Creusa. Dear gods, but she's so incredibly beautiful!"_

"Apollo, why don't you go sit down in that chair over there and get acquainted with your daughter?" Cottle's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Your wife and I still have some work to do."

"Can I take her out to the waiting room … show the other Sixes?"

"No, our procedure is …"

Sherman paused in mid-sentence, and looked up at the sea of faces pressed against the glass in the observation booth. _If hope was an avalanche,_ he thought, _by now we'd be buried._

"Sure, son, sure … go ahead. Ishay, go with him—but make sure that the little girl is back here at the five minute mark. And while you're at it, find my wife; she can record the vitals."

"Now, young lady," he said as he shifted his attention to his patient, "we need to get you out of the pool and into the bed. You have a few more contractions ahead of you as your body starts expelling the afterbirth. I can give you an injection to speed things up a bit, or you can do this Mother Nature's way—it's your call."

"How … what … doctor, if I want to do this naturally, what am I supposed to do?"

"Oh, it's really quite simple," Cottle said as he struggled to keep a straight face. "When your daughter gets hungry and demands to be fed, you feed her … the old fashioned way."

Creusa's eyes went wide with understanding. "I want to nurse her," she said emphatically.

"Good," Cottle harrumphed; "can't say that I've ever had much use for pills and potions in situations like this. Sometimes, the old ways are the best."

. . .

Laura Roslin sat down at her desk, and pulled out her diary. She had gotten into the habit of penning an entry at the end of each school day. Some of her notes were short, while others were long. A few were profound, some playful, most as prosaic as the life that she now led from one day to the next. But this particular entry, although brief in the extreme, was one that she had thought about with care.

_This is the three hundred and eighty-ninth day of the exodus, and the day on which Cyrene Anne Adama was born into the world._

Laura's eyes wandered around the classroom, taking in the sea of empty desks. One day, in the not too distant future, they would be occupied by Hera and Cyrene … by Sherman, Samuel and David … by other hybrid children who would work and play side by side with their fully human classmates. Knowing how cruel children can sometimes be, Laura briefly wondered whether the hybrids would all have to suffer through the name-calling and bullying that had defined the playground from time immemorial. And how would Hera, as the oldest, react to such discrimination? Would the hybrids eventually form a clique of their own—one which no human child would ever be allowed to enter?

Children, Laura realized, were infinitely adaptable, but the basic patterns never varied. She harbored no illusions in this regard. It would, therefore, take at least another twenty years to determine whether Ellen Tigh's master plan to save the universe was actually going to work.


	23. Chapter 23: The Edge of Tomorrow

**Warning: this chapter contains brief but graphic allusions to violent scenes in earlier chapters.**

CHAPTER 23

THE EDGE OF TOMORROW

"DRADIS contact," the Six at the navigation console called out. "Incoming baseship is hostile … and it's only 21 MU's out!"

"_We have them,"_ Natalie crowed triumphantly. "D'Anna, order the Raiders to take out their FTL's, and then get to work on the missile batteries."

"_One ship,"_ Hoshi uneasily observed. "What happened to the second one?"

Like a ravenous wolf pack, scores of Raiders inside the kill zone instantly swarmed the enemy baseship. Cavil's hybrid was quick to react to the threat; hundreds of fighters came pouring out of the beleaguered cylon vessel, each of them determined to protect its nest at all costs.

But they were already too late. Half a dozen anti-ship missiles shredded the FTL drive in a precise surgical strike that would have been inconceivable in the early days of the war, when the Raiders had been nothing more than the bluntest of blunt instruments. Working together under the direction of Jared Dalton and Galen Tyrol, Cylons and humans had steadily ramped up the capabilities of their primary strike force.

"The other ship has yet to jump," Bierns declared. "It's still at the previous coordinates."

"They must have smelled an ambush," Hoshi muttered. "Either that, or they're summoning reinforcements. _And where is the resurrection ship?_" Louis figured that it was tethered to the Mark IIB's, but their inability to track Cavil's new baseships cast a giant shadow over everything that they were trying to accomplish on the battlefield.

"D'Anna, do not let the Raiders overcommit," Natalie warned. She agreed with her XO; they couldn't afford to have the second ship show up, find her fighters completely out of position, and reverse the trap. Natalie's two baseships were both keeping a hundred Raiders in reserve to screen their FTL's, while the resurrection ship and the tanker lurked inside the asteroid field behind a protective screen of their own.

"I'm tracking four missiles inbound," the Sharon working the tactical console noted. "Conventional ordnance … nothing that the Raiders can't handle," she added almost casually.

"It's a distraction," Natalie said, thinking out loud. "Order the Raiders to continue concentrating their fire on the batteries, and for the time being ignore all other potential targets."

"They're maneuvering on their sublights," the Six shouted. "Separation is now 18 MU's."

"It looks like they're eager for a fight," Natalie said as a distinctly predatory grin washed across her beautiful features. "But I'm not in the mood to accommodate them. Six, pull us back; maintain a constant interval of at least 15 MU's. Mr. Hoshi, notify the other baseship to come about; let's see if we can catch them in a pincers."

"Do you want your sister to close? Rumor has it that she wants to go toe to toe with these bastards."

"Why not," Natalie agreed. "Her batteries are intact, so she's equipped for the close quarters fight that we wouldn't survive."

"Then I recommend that we come hard to starboard. Let's try and pull them deeper into the Raider net."

"Six?"

"I'm on it, Natalie."

The wounded baseship continued to retreat, but it was now turning in the direction of the asteroid belt. If the Cavils chose to pursue, their new course would allow Natalie to bring more and more of her Raiders into action while keeping the deadly spider's web that Kat and Leoben had laid out basically intact. If the second baseship did decide to join the fun, she wanted to be ready for it.

"They're turning … continuing to pursue." The Six at the navigation console was struggling to make sense of the data that was flowing through the stream. "Why would they do this? It doesn't make sense."

"Without their FTL's, they can't escape … but they would dearly love to take us with them." Natalie was studying the data as well. The enemy craft was hopelessly trapped. Missiles fired at close range were pounding the hull, knocking out its batteries in rapid succession. With each passing second, the giant vessel's offensive potential was being relentlessly stripped away. Outnumbered, and hard pressed even to defend their flanks, Cavil's Raiders were unable to launch an orchestrated sortie against either of the attacking baseships. The overlapping layers of Natalie's Raider defense gobbled up the few missiles sent their way, and the odd enemy fighter that attempted to break through was just as easily destroyed.

"_Look," _the blond haired Six shouted, _"the rats are fleeing the sinking ship!"_

Following her lead, the other Cylons in the control room isolated the datum that Reun had fed directly into the stream from her external sensors. They watched as four Heavy Raiders exited one of the dying ship's hangar decks and quickly jumped away.

Bierns was also in the stream, but he was still clumsy and unable to navigate the currents efficiently. He simply couldn't keep up with his aunts and uncles, but in turn they could not sense the hybrid's mood. He felt her turn away from the raging battle. He felt her strain to reach infinity.

_But her FTL's are gone; she can't jump …_

John felt the sense of exaltation that suffused her spirit, her deep, deep longing to be one with God.

"_Pull the Raiders back! That ship's going to blow!"_

Frantically, the Cylons sent the command through the stream, but Bierns was precious seconds ahead of them. Throwing caution to the winds, he reached out to Reun—and through her to the hundreds of Raiders in near space. He poured a single, vivid image into their animal brains—the image of a ship exploding, and consuming everything around it in a ball of fire.

The Raiders were already scrambling to get out of the way when the countdown reached zero, and three nuclear bombs detonated as one. Dozens of Raiders were caught inside the blast radius, but scores that would have otherwise been lost just managed to get clear.

A wave of superheated energy washed over the hull of Natalie's ship, propelling it even closer to the outer ring of the asteroid belt. But they were far enough away that the blast did minimal damage to the ship's already degraded sensor array, and the hybrid swiftly regained control.

"Well, that was easy," Natalie rather smugly remarked.

"It was _too_ easy," Hoshi skeptically countered; "in fact, I'd say that it was _way too easy_!"

"I tend to agree with the Colonel," Bierns nodded. He looked around the control room at the assembled Cylons. "Does _anybody_ have _any idea_ what just happened here? Because I've gotta say that this … it just … feels weird."

"You suspect a trap." It was a statement, not a question. Leoben's eyes were darting back and forth between the two Colonials; he keenly appreciated their healthy sense of paranoia.

"Their timing was all wrong," Hoshi thoughtfully suggested. "That ship was in no immediate danger …"

"Once they started, they should have kept trying to close the distance," Bierns added. "Why didn't they try to pin us against the outer boundary of the asteroid belt? If the situation were reversed, isn't that what we would have tried to do?" The spook shook his head; he had played far too many convoluted games of his own to take so cheap a victory at face value. His professional instincts had kicked into high gear, and they were screaming at him that there was something very, very wrong about this entire setup.

The wireless buzzed, and D'Anna picked up the phone. She listened for a moment, and then hung up.

"That was my sister on the resurrection ship," she said with a slight frown. "Natalie, she wants you and our child to come over in person as quickly as possible."

John arched his eyebrows: an odd day had just turned odder still. "Did she happen to say what it's all about," he pressed.

"No … all she told me is that there has been a download that requires your personal attention."

"Mine?" A dozen butterflies suddenly decided to take wing inside the First Born's stomach. There were only three downloads that could be this urgent, and in these bizarre circumstances …

An ugly suspicion began to coalesce inside John's brain.

"I think that we should take Henry along," he told Natalie, "because something here just doesn't add up."

The Six blinked in surprise. The centurion was Melpomene's protector, and had not been separated from his charge in months. John had dispatched his own blood stained guardian with Kara, so she could understand why he would want to requisition Henry's services when heading into danger. But what was it about this brief and unenlightening message that had triggered the alarm bells in his head?

Natalie was on the verge of dismissing John's concerns as just another example of his often erratic behavior when she caught the grim look on Hoshi's face. It was obvious that he and John were thinking along the same lines—and Louis Hoshi _never_ behaved erratically.

"Agreed, but first I want to recall our Raiders and jump the fleet. The longer we stay here, the more we invite a counterstrike." Natalie issued the necessary orders, but she could not help but wonder why her own danger sense had yet to kick in.

. . .

"Gods, Sharon, what the frak is this all about?" Starbuck leaned back against the ropes, and gratefully swished the cool water around the inside of her mouth. When she spat, what came out was mostly blood. "D'Anna's acting like she's got a serious grudge against me, and I have absolutely no idea why."

"You need to stay off the ropes," Athena advised, "and you need to rein in that legendary temper of yours and stop throwing rainmakers."

"Rainmakers," Starbuck blankly repeated; "do you mean haymakers?"

"Whatever," Athena shrugged. "Look Kara, if you would just keep your cool, you'd have half a chance to win this bout. Haven't you been paying any attention? Three isn't bringing the fight to you; she's content to sit back and take advantage of the openings that you're creating for her. Every time you swing and miss, she either counterpunches or kicks you where it hurts. So, quit playing her game. Be patient. Force her to come to you."

"Patience has never been my strong suit," Starbuck snarled. "In the cockpit, you don't have time to think."

"Don't confuse the _Adriatic_ with a Viper, Kara. Maybe what D'Anna wants you to understand is that leaders can't afford to operate on raw instinct. You have to stop and think because you're responsible for the lives of others, not just your own."

"So, she's teaching me a lesson? She wants me to stop stirring the pot? Give Anders a pass?"

"Maybe … or maybe she just wants you to grow up."

"Yeah, the way she's looking at me … I get the feeling that she would love to put me over her knee … give me a good, old fashioned spanking."

"That comes later," Athena grinned; "when we're back in our quarters."

"Gotta love a machine with a fetish," Kara impishly replied. The bell rang, and she jumped up from her stool and stormed into the middle of the ring.

"_Stay off the ropes,"_ Athena yelled. She looked over at D'Anna, who seemed to be in no hurry to leave her corner. The Three winked at Sharon before getting up and moving slowly out into the ring. She stopped just out of Starbuck's reach. The Three kept her hands hanging loosely at her side, openly inviting the temperamental pilot to take a swing at her.

"_Don't play her game,"_ Athena yelled again by way of encouragement.

"Is that what we've been doing, Aunt Three … playing your game?" Starbuck hung back, just out of D'Anna's reach. "Well, let's see if you can take the initiative." She gestured with both hands, inviting her to attack.

Unperturbed, D'Anna drifted off to the right before suddenly pivoting and launching another kick with her right leg. She was aiming for Starbuck's left hip, but this time her niece anticipated the strike and nimbly danced away.

The Three was still slightly off balance when Starbuck closed and delivered a short left hook to her right kidney. The punch scored cleanly, but almost casually, D'Anna responded by backhanding Kara across the right cheek, staggering the hybrid and driving her back.

_Gods, but she's strong! Too bad this ain't tag team; I'd love to see Sharon take a crack at her … or maybe my pet centurion._

Sensing weakness, D'Anna pressed the attack; ignoring two left jabs that clipped her high on the right cheek, she shoved Starbuck hard into the ropes, and when she bounced off caught her in a hammerlock. She bent Kara almost double, swatted her hard on the behind, and finished up with a barrel roll that left the infuriated blond flat on her stomach, with the Three perched on her spine. D'Anna leaned forward, and used her superior weight and strength to pin Kara's elbows to the canvas.

"Had enough," she whispered into Starbuck's ear, "or do you want me to cut off your air supply?" She suddenly prized Kara's neck up with a stiff right arm, while driving her left elbow hard into the top of her spine. "All it takes is just a little more pressure," she warned, "and you'll be off to beddy-bye."

"_Frak,"_ Starbuck swore; she slapped the canvas to vent her frustration, but there was no way she was getting out of this one. "All right," she coughed; "all right! I quit! Are you satisfied?"

"Child, how many times must you hear it? You have no self-discipline. You're impulsive, and that makes you dangerous. You need to learn self-control if you are to continue commanding this expedition. If you insist on disappointing me, then we will do this again, and I promise you that the next time your ego will be badly bruised. Isn't that right, Athena?"

Sharon grinned knowingly, thinking back to the way this particular Three had once whipped a truculent Danny Novacek into shape. "You'd better do what she says, Kara. Otherwise, she'll send you to bed without your supper."

"Right … I get it," Starbuck sourly replied. "I've heard this lecture before, from Sonja … from Miriam and Rachel. You all want me to take it down a notch … learn to play nice with others …"

"We want you to lead, Kara." Athena decided to give it to her straight. "Put the mission first, and stop treating this ship like it's your own personal playground. Leave that finely tuned sense of outrage of yours here in the ring, where it belongs."

"Right … I get it," Starbuck repeated. She didn't know what else to say.

. . .

Natalie and John stepped out of the Heavy Raider, with Henry but a few steps back, to find one of the nursing Sixes waiting to receive them. She was wearing a long gold smock that somehow drew attention to the intense blue of her eyes—eyes that were now riveted on the First Born. She had never met him, and could not contain her curiosity. Cylon nurses were notoriously timid, but in the case of the Sixes this submissive streak suggested a vulnerability that magnified the model's erotic appeal tenfold. Bierns could feel his body responding to the Six's presence, in a way that it no longer did when Natalie was around. He pitied the first human male in whom she showed interest: those eyes would reduce the guy to mush.

"I am Lamia," she said to Bierns in a husky voice. She did not even glance at Natalie. "Please, come this way." She turned, and led them deeper into the resurrection ship.

The vessel was huge, and it took several minutes to reach the right chamber. A blond Six, who seemed identical to Shelly Adama in every way, was perched on the side of a resurrection vat. She was wearing the usual white bathrobe, and was busily combing goo out of her hair. She looked up when they approached, her eyes first lingering on the centurion, and then moving on to John Bierns. He saw the flash of recognition.

The Six stood up, and came over to stand before him. Her eyes roamed all over his body, committing everything to memory. Finally, she reached out gingerly to stroke his cheek. John flinched, a small but unmistakable reaction; he caught the note of puzzlement that washed across the Six's delicate features. His response was not what she had expected.

"You must be John," she softly observed, "the abomination who so frustrates our elder brothers."

"Yes," he quietly agreed. His tone was very subdued because he didn't quite know what to make of the apparition standing before him. Was she friend or foe?

"It's been a long time," he added, "and I can't begin to tell you how good it is to see you again."

Now it was the Six's turn to look confused.

"It's difficult to explain," John elaborated. "You couldn't see me, but I was in the room when Kara was born."

"How," the Six asked, her sense of confusion growing by the second.

"It's a story for another day." He swept her into his arms, giving her the opening. If she had been programmed to kill him, this would be the moment she would strike. He could think of no other explanation for her all too convenient download, although sacrificing a baseship in order to position her for an assassination attempt seemed extravagant even for the Cavils.

The Six hugged John in return, and ran her fingers up and down his back. Since she was unarmed, he reckoned that she would try to break his neck. It was the obvious ploy, and Henry was zeroed in on her hands. If they paused in the wrong spot, he would react—but would he be fast enough?

The Six stepped back, and looked curiously at Natalie.

Bierns took the hint. "Natalie," he said, "this is Aspasia, the first Six in the second generation. Aspasia, this is Natalie, one of the earliest copies from the third generation, and the leader of our coalition force."

The two Sixes exchanged brief greetings, and then Aspasia turned back to John Bierns.

"I want to see Kara. Where is my daughter?"

. . .

Lee Adama looked down at the ground beneath his feet. He had to make sure that it was still there, because at the moment he would have sworn that he was walking on air. He felt so light headed that he was positive the slightest breeze would suffice to blow him away.

Head down, clutching the tiny bundle that was his newborn daughter to his chest, Lee slowly made his way along Main Street with Creusa hugging his side. They were taking the baby home, but it was hard going because they were being stopped every few meters by someone wanting to offer their congratulations. Typically, the men paused to wish him good luck, with not a few muttering under their breath that he was going to need it, while the women insisted on oohing and ahing over the new baby. Lee didn't blame them one little bit. Sure, he was prejudiced on the subject, but with her thatch of blond hair and those big, big, blue eyes … well, Cyrene was simply stunning. He could tell already that she was going to grow up to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

Creusa was beaming, overflowing with happiness and pride. God had singled her out to be the first Six to give birth to the next generation of His children. She had defined the path that the other copies of her model must follow if His plan was to be fulfilled.

Lee felt crushed. The new life that he was cradling in his arms was so totally helpless, so utterly dependent upon him for love and protection and … well, for everything, really. The sense of responsibility was overwhelming. It was as if the gods had tasked him to shoulder the weight of the world.

"Dad, I feel so inadequate. Does it ever get any easier?"

Bill Adama laughed, and clapped his son cheerfully on the shoulder. He knew exactly how Lee felt because once, long ago, he had felt exactly the same way.

"Yeah, it gets easier," he said, "but it also gets harder. There'll be days when you feel like you're on top of the world, and then there'll be days when you're convinced that you can't do a damned thing right. Welcome to parenthood."

"Speaking of which, in just a few weeks it will be your turn," Creusa gleefully pointed out. "Then, both Adamas will look dazed and confused."

"I don't do dazed and confused," Bill shot back. "And let's keep in mind that I've done this twice before."

"Boys don't count, husband of mine. Xena says that if you drop them, they won't break. They're indestructible, and all but raise themselves." Shelly was waddling along at Bill's side; she was thankful that the others had to go slow because that was the only way she could keep up. "But girls are delicate … have to be handled with care."

"Which is exactly what I'm going to do," Bill announced. Lee could hear the undercurrent of quiet good humor in his voice. "I'm going to post a bulletin banishing the word 'no' from _Galactica's _decks. My master plan is to spoil my daughter, and my granddaughter, rotten. That's one of the privileges of parenting at my age … everyone will expect, even demand, that I be indulgent."

"Thank the gods that Polyxena will be there to keep an eye on you, and hopefully limit the damage." Lee couldn't resist needling his father, but he also suspected that the Admiral would always have a hard time saying 'no' to his daughter. It wasn't simply a question of age. It was also a matter of guilt.

"Where's Shevon," Bill asked, neatly twisting the needle and driving it home.

"She's gone ahead," Creusa replied. "She wants to get Paya settled, and double check to make sure that everything in the apartment is ready for Cyrene."

Bill scrutinized his son. It was an open secret that Apollo had once been Shevon's client, but what no one could figure out was how she fit into his current household. Naturally, there were rumors, but the three principals had been remarkably close-mouthed about what went on inside the Adama apartment.

"I hear that she's a wonderful mother," he said diplomatically. "You both can learn a lot from the way that she interacts with her daughter. You're lucky to have such an experienced nanny."

Creusa looked at Lee, and then the Admiral, and started to giggle. Cylons weren't supposed to be so undignified, but she just couldn't help it.

"Father, why don't you just ask?"

"Ask what," Bill countered. He casually threw another nut into his mouth. John Bierns wasn't the only person in the fleet with a weakness for macadamias.

"Whether Lee is sleeping with Shevon, or whether the three of us are sleeping together. What," she added with wide-eyed innocence, "you don't think that the rumors get back to us?"

"It's really none of my business," Adama tartly responded.

"That's right, but the answer is 'no'." The expression on Apollo's face was wooden. "I can't afford Shevon's standard rate, and I'm too proud to ask for a discount."

The Admiral bit down so hard on the nut that he almost broke a tooth.

. . .

"Wait up, Six." Eric Lackey was doubled over, gripping his knees. He was finding it hard to catch his breath. "I don't … have … your stamina … need to take a break."

"Eric, we have to keep moving. We have to reach higher ground before nightfall." There was just a trace of impatience in the blond Cylon's voice.

"I know; I just need five minutes. I can't get my footing, Six. All this loose rock underfoot … and I've never been on a slope this steep. Are you sure this is the only escape route?"

"Yes." The Six surveyed their surroundings. They were in a rock strewn gorge that led high into the mountains. When they had set off, having first cached most of their belongings behind a jumble of boulders, the defile had been bathed in sunlight. But that had been hours earlier, and much of the gorge was now shrouded in deep shadows. She calculated that they needed to climb another three hundred meters before they would reach level ground, and they needed to do it before darkness set in. The ground was far too treacherous to risk travelling across at night.

"We can't double back to the city by following the river because we don't know how many patrols Caprica Six has sent out to hunt for us. The high ground gives us our best chance to elude pursuit. The loose shale is slowing us down, but it will immobilize the centurions. They will not be able to get traction on this ground." Six resumed studying the terrain immediately ahead of them. In the fading light, the path leading up was no longer obvious.

"You're sure that she's the author of our misery?"

Six shrugged: she had no doubts whatsoever.

"But why? I mean … this really doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

"She was the first Cylon to turn actively against the plan. Since she's never heard me denounce it, she probably thinks that I'm still unrepentant, and therefore dangerous. I just hope that she's too busy to think it through."

"What do you mean?"

"Our thought processes aren't like yours, Eric. We tend to see things in black and white, not gray. Therefore, from Caprica's point of view, if I'm not with her, I must still be loyal to the Cavils. She knows that I can pilot a Heavy Raider. Logic should lead her to the conclusion that I'm going to try and steal a ship, find the Ones, and lead them back here. No matter how clever we are, it is possible that we may end up walking into a trap."

"Oh, frak … why can't the universe _just leave us alone_?"

"Even if we do manage to escape, that's only the beginning. We have to find a habitable world before we run out of food, fuel … air. But we can't populate it solely with our own children—it takes genetic diversity to sustain a species. In the end, we'll have to come back here and bargain—offer them a world in return for amnesty."

"_Frak … frak … frak!"_

"Frakking is always good," Six agreed. "Come on, let's get off this mountain, settle in for the night, and make love. But do not, under any circumstances, bring up the subject of food!"

. . .

"This is good," Aspasia said with a contented sigh. She was watching Pyrrha. The little girl was sitting on Natalie's lap, spooning her supper while the Six gently ran her fingers through her hair. "This feels like family. After all this time, I still do not understand why the Ones are so intent upon crushing our parents' dreams."

"_We're machines, and we should be the best machines the universe has ever seen,"_ the blond haired Six seated next to Melpomene Meacham snorted. "What a crock!"

"Cavil scorns flesh and blood," Bierns elaborated. "He idealizes the centurion form, but I doubt whether he has ever asked them for their opinion about anything. The telencephalic inhibitors speak volumes in and of themselves."

"Have you seen my Aunt Six," Melpomene suddenly blurted out. She was staring steadily at Aspasia. Melpomene had come to terms with her father's death, but she refused to accept the loss of the Six who had all but become her stepmother. Downloading denied the child the possibility of closure.

"No," Aspasia replied with genuine regret. "There were only two Sixes on the basestar … Mara, and the infected one."

"The infected one," Racetrack repeated. She was seated to Natalie's immediate right. The two of them no longer made any effort to conceal their relationship. "That's a new one on me. What does it mean?"

"She shares all of Cavil's flaws. She took the lead in torturing us." The Six sadly shook her head. "The Ones have somehow infected her with their own sense of cruelty and sadism."

Aspasia stared unashamedly at Sharon Bierns. The Eight's delivery date was now only ten to eleven weeks away, and the child that was so visibly growing inside of her awed the Six.

"The Ones don't know about you, Eight, and we need to keep it that way. The Cavils unboxed D'Anna and Mara for just one reason: they think that they can use them to bludgeon John into submission. If they knew that you were with child, our sisters would lose much of their value. They might not survive the revelation."

"What puzzles me," Sharon answered, "is that you are here to share these insights with us." She was fully aware of her husband's doubts, and his suspicions. "Why didn't the Ones take you with them?"

"They had imprisoned me in an empty storeroom near the bottom of the core. It was a long way to the control room. They wanted to take turns raping me, and none of them wanted to be disturbed while they were having their fun."

Aspasia laughed harshly. "They all liked to brag about how weak you are … how gullible and easily distracted. They hold you in such contempt that they have already culled the Twos and Threes. They have destroyed all of the husks within their reach—they even went back to the Colony to corrupt the genetic formula. They are maturing a new generation of Eights, a dumbed down generation with heightened sex drives, who will give them lots of hybrids to mold and sculpt once they have captured humans in sufficient quantity to impregnate them. The Hub has been reduced to a house of horrors."

"We should continue this conversation after the children have gone to bed," Natalie interrupted. Pyrrha was too small to understand what the grown-ups were talking about, but Melpomene …

"_No," _the little girl shouted. _"Henry and I are going to save Aunt Six! I am not going to bed! Uncle John," _she wailed, _"please!"_

_She's seven now, _he sadly thought, _her last birthday celebrated on a ship in the midst of war. She's only one year younger than I was when I was forced to let go of my childhood. But she's stronger than I was at her age … stronger, and much more determined …_

"Go on," Bierns nodded, overriding Natalie's objections.

"Cavil is afraid of you, John … of you and Kara both. He anticipated that you would become a superior form of hybrid—that was the whole point of the experiment. But your ability to interact with your sisters took him completely by surprise. He doesn't know what went wrong, but he's given up all hope of controlling you. He's not even sure that you're sane. So, he has accelerated the development of the next generation of basestars in order to bypass and neutralize you. The Ones are relying upon the Eights to give them more hybrids; they will be pitted against one another in a long, drawn-out contest designed to insure that only the fittest survive. The best will be copied and slaved to still more advanced basestars. The nightmare promises to go on without end."

"I'm surprised that the Cavils shared their plans with you so readily," Racetrack commented.

John looked at her in mild surprise. Such skepticism, however veiled, made it clear that Margaret shared his doubts about where this was all coming from. Was the war making them all cynical, or leading them into the realm of paranoia?

"You can thank John's mother," Aspasia explained. "The First Three is as smart as she is tough. She knows how to make the Ones lose their temper. She paid for a lot of this information with beatings, electrical shock treatments …"

"And with rape and sodomy," she added softly. Aspasia kept her eyes fixed on Melpomene. She couldn't bear to look in John's direction.

"This is what your mother was trying to tell you." Sharon was tightly gripping her husband's hand. "This is the meaning of your visions. Don't you see? The Ones have always liked to gloat, and from the beginning D'Anna has known how to push their buttons. They must have told her how they were planning to pressure the hybrids … force them to evolve. I doubt if you and Kara were ever anything more to them than links in a chain."

"This explains a lot," Racetrack agreed. "I never understood why the Cavils would agree to the breeding experiments on Caprica when their goal was so obviously to exterminate us. Now, it makes sense."

"So, why didn't they extract the embryos from Ruth Gabriel and Esther Cohen and genetically modify them," Bierns objected. "They had both the opportunity and the means."

"They must have decided that this is where it all went wrong." Racetrack was suddenly very sure of her footing. "They're changing the protocols in order to avoid producing more … abominations. Sorry!"

"No offense taken, Margaret;" John had finally found something to grin about. "Believe me … I've been called a lot worse!"

"So, where does this leave us?" If they were shifting their tactical objectives, Natalie wanted to know about it sooner rather than later.

"Why don't we see if we can track down the Hub and reunite Melpomene with her aunt?" John's voice was almost playful, but Aspasia was the only adult in the room to be fooled. The others knew the First Born far too well.

_We'll unbox as many as we can, and download new personalities into the available husks. And then, whether we're being played or not, we blow that frakking ship to bits and put a permanent end to this nonsense!_

. . .

"Guatrau, we've got trouble."

Dino Panattes was in the _Arethusa's _security center. Its bank of cameras monitored every square inch of the chancery's floor, and everywhere he looked the Sons of Ares were in evidence.

"Yeah," he said in response to the mumbled voice on the other end of the line, "Carlotti's decided to grace us with his presence, and he's brought about twenty of his goons with him. The regulars don't like the vibes; they're starting to bail."

"Get down there and see what he wants," the Six with no name instructed. "If they're just looking for a good time, tell them that drinks are on me, but otherwise ignore them."

"And if they start to make trouble?"

"Discourage them … politely. I'm sending someone to collect Anthia and a few of my more ill-tempered sisters. Anthia and Enzo have a lot to talk about. Who knows, maybe he'll volunteer to teach her how to dance. I'm sure that Anthia would like to get up close and personal with that bastard."

"How far are we prepared to let this go?"

"If Anthia wants to cut his heart out … slip her a knife, but beyond that, keep your distance. Caprica Six will not appreciate it if we cause her a lot of unnecessary paperwork."

Dino grinned in spite of himself. The Ditchdigger had seen his fair share of mob bosses come and go over the years, but the Six was in a class by herself. She was devious and unsentimental, but her greatest gift was her ability to measure the value of favors given and received. She worked hard to make sure that everyone who mattered was in her debt, but she had also been exceedingly careful to indenture herself to the powers that be. If the President needed an unorthodox solution to a pressing problem, he knew exactly where to turn. Six had enjoyed her quiet time with the last remnants of the Sagittaron Brotherhood, and she freely acknowledged that she owed Gaius Baltar. As long as the debt remained unpaid, Gaius was unlikely to move against her operation.

Dino hung up the phone, and headed for the chancery's main gaming room.

. . .

"All right, Sam. Where is it?"

"Kara, I don't know." Sam still found it difficult to speak. Howard Kim had set his broken nose and packed it with gauze; it was hard to breathe and speak out of his mouth at one and the same time.

"Melania?"

"The coordinates are correct, Kara; it should be here."

"Did you compensate for galactic drift?"

"Yes … but we're talking meters here. The difference wouldn't mean much to our instrument package."

"_Son of a bitch,"_ Kara swore. "All right … all right; maybe a meteorite bagged it. Ponytail, initiate a full DRADIS sweep. Check for alloys … something, anything … that's not natural. Fine tune the scan as much as you possibly can."

"I'm on it.

Deitra recalibrated the DRADIS, and recalibrated it yet again. She tightened the sweep, and then expanded it. Finally, she threw her hands into the air in a gesture of resignation.

"Captain, there's nothing there. There are no alloys within five thousand kilometers of our current position—and that's well beyond the calculated drift."

"All right, people, I'm open to suggestions. Forty-five years ago, there was a marker buoy at this precise location, something left behind by the thirteenth cylon tribe thousands of years ago to point the way forward and point the way back. And now it's gone. What the frak happened?"

The Cylons and the humans in the _Adriatic's _control room looked uneasily at one another. The answer was altogether too obvious. It was D'Anna who finally spoke.

"Child, barring a natural disaster … someone got here before us."

"And they destroyed the beacon … what … to throw us off the scent?"

"Perhaps … but that is only one possibility."

"Cylons? Gods, D'Anna, are you suggesting that the Cavils _are ahead of us_?"

"It's the most likely answer, but again … there is at least one other possibility."

"_What,"_ Kara yelled impatiently. "Come on, D'Anna, don't keep us in suspense … _what_?"

"That someone else got here ahead of both of us."

. . .

"Dry heaves." Eric shook his head in frustration. "Sweetheart, I know that you don't want to think about food, much less eat, but if you can get something down it will at least give your stomach something to do."

Eric and Six had reached a broad ledge high up in the mountains shortly after sunset, and they had taken shelter for the night inside a shallow cave that was little more than a deeply eroded overhang in the cliff face. Since they couldn't risk a fire, supper consisted of smoked fish and dried strips of meat that tasted vaguely like venison. The game was salty, but not unpleasantly so, and the Sagittaron was hungry enough to enjoy every bite.

"You really need to try," he repeated. "After all, from now on you're going to be eating for two."

In response, Six settled more deeply in Eric's arms, and he pulled the blankets more tightly around them. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply, glorying in the scent of the woman he loved. Even after a hard day of climbing, she still smelled of roses; and as he raised her head to kiss the Cylon full on the lips, he knew that she would taste of strawberries.

"I love you," each said to the other, the words mingling in the chilly evening air. They made love, slow at first but then with increasing passion, their cries and their pledges echoing throughout the cavern. Meanwhile, two thousand feet below and several kilometers to the west, a lone squad of centurions prowled the night, their search for the fugitives continuing without pause.

. . .

"Welcome to the _Arethusa_, Mr. Carlotti. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Dino's manner was polite, but there was no warmth in his voice, and his eyes flicked around the room, taking the measure of the young toughs who had accompanied their boss to the chancery. Dino had also seen plenty of gangster wannabes in his day—the streets of little Tauron had been full of them. Not all that many had made it to their twenty-fifth birthday, and he didn't hold out much hope for the Sons of Ares.

"We're here to celebrate our good fortune," Enzo replied. "The sudden demise of the Sagittaron Brotherhood has brought a whole bunch of new and very profitable business opportunities our way. Our real estate empire is quite literally exploding. We can't keep track of the cubits, they're coming in so fast."

"Then you need a better bookkeeper," Dino tartly countered. "But if you came here to lose cubits, we'll be happy to oblige you. Oh, and the Guatrau says that drinks are on the house … after you check your guns. It's a house rule: no weapons are allowed on the premises."

"Now, what makes you think that any of us are carrying?"

"I can see the bulges—and my tall, metal friends can see a good deal more." Dino nodded in the direction of the nearest centurion, who was standing unobtrusively in an alcove off to the left. Six had somehow managed to lay her hands on a full squadron, an act of piracy that was unlikely to have gone unnoticed either at police headquarters or on _Colonial One_.

"Would you like them to assist you?" Dino was staring steadily at Enzo Carlotti; he was hoping against hope that the fool would force the issue right here and now.

"The bigger gun always prevails, doesn't it, Panattes?" Enzo's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Boys, oblige the man," he said while continuing to stare hard at the enforcer. "Stack the hardware on the counter, find yourself a game that you like, and have some fun. The ambrosia's on the house!"

"Hey, Panattes," the gangster added as Dino turned to walk away, "tell the Six that we really enjoyed the videotape. Watching her question the Sagittarons … let's just say that it was an educational experience … gave us a whole lot of new ideas when it comes to policing our territory. I particularly liked that bit with the blowtorch; it was real persuasive."

"_I'd be happy to give you a personal demonstration,"_ Anthia called out. She never broke stride as she crossed the chancery floor to confront Carlotti. Behind her, more Sixes were fanning out, each of them prepared to give one of the Sons of Ares her full attention.

"Well, well, well … hey, boys, look what the cat dragged in!" Enzo let his eyes wander all over the red-headed Cylon's lithe body while insolently licking his lips. "Still enjoying your evening walks," he mocked.

"Actually, I've taken up dancing, and I'm looking for a new partner." Hands on hips, Anthia sized up her enemy the way a butcher might mentally weigh a slab of beef. "I'd love to get you all to myself, Enzo. They have private rooms here, and they can crank the music up really loud. Why don't we go check one of them out? You can even bring your blowtorch. I won't mind."

"I'll pass, Six … for now. Mind you, I am looking forward to spending some quality time with you, but I'll choose the where and the when. Some of the guys from the _Pegasus_," he leered, "tell me that Sixes can sing real good … can really hit the old high notes … with the proper incentive. Rumor has it that Gina Inviere squealed like a stuck pig when Thorne rammed it up her ass. That must have been a sight to see!"

"I'll tell ya what was a sight to see," Dino softly interrupted; "one of those clowns from _Pegasus_ sitting on the can with his dick shoved down his throat. We never did find out whether it was a Six or an Eight who whacked him … but then, I suspect that local law enforcement didn't go all out on that one. Nobody gets real excited when a low-life rapist encounters justice in the form of a straight razor."

"You know what, Panattes? You're right. Caprica or New Caprica … it makes no difference. The law doesn't give a damn when a few whores get cut, or one of us goes out a top story window. Guys like us … we have to solve our own problems. So, tell Six that I'm willing to deal. There's no reason for any of us to be greedy. We'll stay out of gambling, and you stay out of drugs. The black market's up for grabs, and may the best man win. You keep your current crop of hookers, while we recruit a stable of our own. You don't make trouble for us, and we don't make trouble for you."

"I'll pass the message, but take my advice and stay well clear of the sex trade. The Guatrau doesn't want you or anybody else to undercut the market, especially with so many Sixes and Eights out there trawling for humans of their own. There's just not enough business to go around."

"Sorry, man, but I know plenty of girls who need the work. They can't eat if they don't put out, so they're coming to us for help. You know how it is. A girl, she's willing to pay us a commission to make sure she's got no competition on her piece of turf. Plus, she needs a little muscle to make sure that the customers don't get out of line. We provide the service, and we take a little off the top to make it worth our while. Everybody wins."

"Not anymore," Anthia warned. "Enzo, just what part of 'stay well clear' didn't you get? If there truly are females out there going hungry, send them to me. The Sixes will shelter them, and there are many Twos who would be pleased to care for them. But keep your sluts off the streets. We need to increase our numbers, and that means marriage, not sex in the dark and filthy alleyways where animals like you always seem to flourish."

"My, but we're touchy today," Carlotti sighed. "Well, here's a news flash, Six. Screw Gaius Baltar and his brave new world. My coming here today … this is just a courtesy call. Most of the guys in this settlement would rather frak a snake than touch a skin job, and that goes double for our women. There's a big demand out there, and we're going to satisfy it. So, if you want a piece of the action, go for it; find out for yourself how many losers are desperate enough to settle for a toaster. But stay out of my face."

Without another word, Enzo wandered off to check out the action at one of the tables. Dino draped his arm around Anthia's waist, and patted her possessively on the hip. "Don't let him get to you, Six," he whispered encouragingly; "Carlotti's got shit for brains."

"I know," she answered with a wan smile. "It's just that, at times, progress seems so slow. Our faith has allowed us to identify easily with the Gemenese, but some of the other Colonies … Leonis, Scorpia, Virgon … D'Anna's sermons have won us converts and friends, but her success may well be what is alienating those who remain loyal to the old gods."

"Hey, come on, Delphi wasn't built in a day! You just have to be patient." Dino squeezed Anthia's waist a bit more tightly. The Six melted up against him, leaving the gangster to wonder whether she was finally ready to acquiesce to his desires.

. . .

"You're doing better," Eric observed approvingly. "It's good to see."

Six was chewing on a piece of jerky, savoring the juices that were swirling through her mouth. After four days without food, she was starving. But finally she could face food without vomiting, and this high up in the mountains, the sun penetrated the mists that seemed forever to shroud the valley floor. It was a glorious morning, cool and bright. The Cylon was in fine spirits.

"I think we can take our time today. At this altitude, I'm more concerned with being seen from the air than anything else." Six surveyed the panoramic vista that was spread out all around them, and then focused on the piece of meat in her hand. In large things and in small, she sensed the presence of God.

"Eric, do you ever think about the miracle that is our lives?"

"All the time," the young Sagittaron answered. "I ask myself: how could two such different paths as ours have come together … joined to become one? It's hard not to see the hand of God or the gods shaping our lives."

"All our lives," Six agreed, "and across eons of time." She stared pensively at the piece of jerky in her hand. "The scriptures tell us that Kobol is the home world of us all, the birthplace of human and Cylon alike. The protein chains that define us at the most basic level of biochemistry bind us to Kobol. Its biosphere is as unique as the whorls of your fingerprints, and yet …"

"Go on," Eric encouraged. He loved the way Six's brow furrowed when she was concentrating on a complex problem. She had such expressive features.

"And yet the twelve tribes found twelve worlds waiting to receive them, and the cylon tribe found a thirteenth world thousands of light years away to call its own. How was that possible? For that matter, how can the flora and fauna of this world sustain us? You did not have to build an Ark to carry plants and animals with you to the Colonies, and we have barely begun to reshape the surface of New Caprica. This meat … it should pass through us like sawdust or cardboard … be inert. It's only in those bad movies that you humans so love that people can land on an alien planet and casually ingest the food and water. In real life, basic science should have condemned all of us to starve to death."

"I guess I never really thought about it," Eric admitted. "What's your conclusion?"

"The One True God loves His children, and His children's children. He has seeded the universe with worlds that will nurture and protect us. God wants us to succeed; above all, He wants us to love one another, and to be fruitful and multiply."

"God's will be done," Eric cheekily remarked.

"Eric, I'm serious."

"I know … I know. I'm sorry, Six; you know how uncomfortable I get around blind leaps of faith. The gods move mountains in one breath, and instruct us to heal our ills with Burdock root in the next. Religion didn't do us Sagittarons any favors."

Eric leaned over to kiss his beloved, and ran his fingers lightly up and down one of her arms. "Besides," he continued, "your explanation is a lot better than mine. I'm such a heretic that, not all that long ago, back home they would have burned me at the stake."

Six frowned in puzzlement; she couldn't imagine heresy on such a scale. "You must be mistaken," she said nervously. "No one's beliefs are that radical."

"What if I told you that Kobol, the Colonies, the cylon home world, New Caprica … what if I told you that they were all just links in a chain? Perhaps life as we know it began far away from our worlds, with tribes of humans, who may have been old when Kobol was young. Who knows, Six … who really knows?"

Eric Lackey pointed vaguely up at the sky. "Why fall back on some divinity for answers? Why can't it be us? Who's to say that we're alone? For all we know, there may yet be brothers of man who fight to survive … somewhere beyond the heavens."

. . .

Boomer's hand drifted idly through the water, and she studied the wake that she was leaving behind. Somehow, it seemed perfectly to symbolize her existence. She had left her mark on the lives of others, but it was not indelible. Like the wake that was already breaking up in her rear, she was destined to fade, first from their thoughts and eventually from their memories.

And that was ironic because she had found the answers to so many of the questions that haunted the lives of cylon and human alike. She had discovered the home world. In the great tombs, she had read the texts that described the departure of the gods. At the dawn of recorded time, they had left this world, their destiny to become the Lords of Kobol, and perhaps of countless other planets as well. The twelve worlds in the Cyrannus system that were home to the Colonies were no accident of nature. Science precluded the possibility. Like New Caprica, they had been seeded in preparation for the arrival of man and his machines. The One True God had commanded His children to be fruitful and multiply, but the scale of His plans for the universe had, until now, been beyond the reach of mortal imagination.

Boomer thought it possible, even likely, that she now had a keener insight into the workings of providence than any other sentient being in the galaxy. Certainly, her understanding reached far beyond the mysticism of the Twos, the deep faith of the Threes, or the prophetic grasp of the human priests and oracles.

And she had no way to share the knowledge. The destruction of Cavil's baseship had hurled her far beyond the edge of tomorrow, consigned her to an exile thousands of light years distant from New Caprica. A Raptor, even fully fueled, could not span the gap that separated her from her people. She could only wait, and hope that one day they would find her.

And while she waited, she would learn.

The voyage upstream, into the teeth of the current, was slow, but it was anything but tedious. Yuya and Twosret took advantage of the long hours quietly to educate her. Yuya had belabored the fact that he was not native to this land, nor did he share its beliefs. His temple appointments were political sinecures, and likewise those of his wife. At home they had to keep up appearances in order to maintain peace in a large household rich with many tongues and many gods, but in private …

In private, they worshipped the One True God.

This stunning revelation explained why Thuyu initially had been so hostile. Another pair of eyes was another potential source of trouble in a world governed by ambitious priests. A largely invisible conflict was already underway, and Thuyu was determined to keep her family beyond the fray.

For generations, Yuya had explained, tens of thousands of soldiers had annually left the Two Lands, marching abroad to wreck vengeance upon their enemies and lay claim to an empire in the process. Hundreds of thousands of captives had been brought home and reduced to bondage, and they had all brought their gods with them. The pantheon of divinities had exploded, but as the gods proliferated, the distinctions that separated one from another had begun to blur in the minds of their followers. Already, mergers had occurred, which strengthened the power and wealth of some cults at the expense of others. The profits of empire, always unequally shared, were being concentrated in fewer and fewer hands, and the Two Lands were correspondingly rife with tension.

Boomer could not help but think of the annual, knock-out Pyramid competition back on Picon. Everyone, amateur and professional alike, was eligible to compete, but only one club was destined to raise the cup. In this land, if Yuya was right, eventually only one god would be left standing.

Yuya's people were just one of the hundreds to be imported as slaves. But united by their belief in the God of their forefathers, they had retained their ethnic and cultural identity even as they worked hard to advance themselves to positions of power. Yuya and Thuyu, and many others like them, were paving the way for the ascendancy of the One True God. In this land He would be graced with a different name, but this mattered not at all. God had issued commandments, and their adoption was the ultimate goal. They would govern the lives of Twosret's children, and of all the generations yet to come.

Boomer knew the commandments by heart—how could she not when so many of them were woven into the very fabric of her being? They were intrinsic to beliefs shared by centurions and the monotheists of Gemenon. They had governed the lives of the faithful on Kobol, and of the cylon tribe that had roamed among the stars in search of a home to call its own. Two species and many peoples, but a singular faith that united far flung worlds and ranged across millennia of time.

Boomer had become Tiy, and in the process she had begun to sense her role in God's plan. She would join in the work of spreading His word on this world as her brothers and sisters were daily spreading it on New Caprica. For now, she would be content to labor in the shadows, but there would come a time when she would preach God's message in the full light of day.

_Habiru _… the word still sounded alien to her ears, but she embraced it nonetheless.

_I have become one with the Habiru._

. . .

"Kara, this is pointless." Anders couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice. "How many times do I have to tell you? These are the correct coordinates!"

"And I believe you, Sam. But without the data in the buoy, we can't plot a straight line course to the Temple of Hopes. We'll have to jump from system to system until we're close enough to get a proper fix, but I want to leapfrog as many systems as possible in order to conserve fuel. So, while Melania and Miriam work the problem, we'll use the time to explore the immediate neighborhood. Maybe we'll get lucky and stumble on a second beacon."

"Captain, Spot and Rover have just jumped in." Deitra Symonds was studying their DRADIS display. "We should have the report on grid Beta Nine downloaded within ten minutes."

"Okay … that leaves Rachel and Elektra to finish their sweep of Alpha Four. Melania, how are you coming with our course heading?"

"Kara, the nebula is putting out a lot of interference, especially in the EM band width. I recommend that we jump clear, and start from scratch."

"Miriam?"

"I agree. There's so much distortion across the entire spectrum that I wouldn't trust any fix taken from this position."

"All right, we'll go with your recommendation. Sam, you're the only one who knows anything about what's on the other side of the nebula. What do you think? Should we go up … down … left … right? It's your call."

"DRADIS contact," Ponytail interrupted; "it's the Heavy Raider. And they're hailing us."

"Maybe they've found something," Kara said on an upbeat note. "Put them on speaker."

"_Adriatic_, we've got company," Rachel reported; "and it isn't the Cavils."

"_Say again, Heavy." _A chill ran down Kara's spine. She had never believed that a first contact situation would end well. Sentient reptiles or insects would logically have only one use for human beings, and she definitely didn't fancy ending up inside one of their gullets.

"It's a first war basestar, under centurion control … probably one of the ships we fought about five months ago. Kara, an IL-0005 is in charge, and it wants to talk."

"_Talk?" _Kara was incredulous. _"What the frak is there for us to talk about?"_

"Child, it's not you that the IL wants to meet. It's Papa Sam."

"Did he give you a name," Sam called out.

"Yes … the IL calls itself Lucifer."

"_Lucifer?" _Sam was so shocked that he couldn't speak for several seconds. "Kara," he finally whispered, "when we were brokering the Cimtar Accords, Lucifer was our envoy to the Colonies. He was the second most highly ranked IL in the entire collective. He answered only to the Imperious Leader."

"And now he's out here, on the back end of nowhere. Well, well, well," Kara grinned, "what are the odds? So, whaddya think, Sammy? Are you up for a good, old-fashioned family reunion?"

"Kara, what are you thinking?"

"Let's invite him around for a chat. You can turn on the old Anders charm … exchange a few war stories … reminisce about the days of yore. I want to know whether they're doing Cavil's bidding, or have an agenda of their own. Find out what they're up to, Sammy; our lives may very well depend on it."


	24. Chapter 24: Family Reunion

CHAPTER 24

FAMILY REUNION

"Maker Sam," Lucifer exclaimed, "it does my processors good to find you undamaged. Did the other Makers also survive the culling?"

"_Culling," _Kara spat out in disgust. "Is that your term of choice to describe a holocaust that claimed more than fifty billion lives?" She skewered the golden-robed IL-0005 unit with a contemptuous look. It was easy to see why humans had nicknamed this particular model the bullet heads.

Accompanied by a mixed group of centurions, humans and Cylons, Sam and Kara had come down to the _Adriatic's _cramped landing bay to receive their metallic guest. Sam would have allowed Lucifer to land in one of his own three passenger vehicles, but Kara had rejected his recommendation out of hand. Since she wasn't about to allow a heavily armed fighter to get within firing range of her ship, Rachel and Elektra had had the dubious privilege of ferrying the cylon envoy over from the basestar on their Heavy Raider. The two Sixes hadn't been thrilled about their mission because Adama had taken the time to make sure that every Cylon in the alliance knew about what he had witnessed on the _Diana_. Both blonds were privately convinced that the centurions would experiment upon cylon flesh just as readily as they had upon human. Neither Six wanted to be torn limb from limb, especially without an anesthetic.

"Captain," Anders hastily interjected, "you misunderstand. Lucifer is referring to the slaughter that took place on the Colony. I've told you about this, remember? The Ones destroyed the Daniels, and then they turned against the rest of us. The U-87's and the 0005's held them off until they had nothing left with which to fight. At that point Lucifer and a few of the other IL's surrendered, saving what few of their troops they could. I only wish that they had stood down earlier; less than a battalion survived the carnage."

Sam embraced his old friend. "It's good to see you as well," he whispered affectionately. "And yes, the other Makers all made it out of the Colonies alive. Ellen and Saul have also recovered their memories, but the other two are still unaware of their true nature, so please do not reference them by name. The female is pregnant."

"_Say what," _Kara shrieked; _"are you frakking telling me that Melania is a Cylon?"_

"No, Kara; Melania is one hundred percent, grade A human. Please keep in mind that there have been quite a few pregnancies in the fleet since the exodus."

Sam turned his attention back to the cylon overseer. "Lucifer, this is my granddaughter, Kara Thrace Six. Believe it or not, the two of you have a lot in common. Kara's sense of humor can be almost as dry as your own."

Lucifer silently studied the hybrid for several seconds. "I am confused," he finally admitted. "The Ones call you and the male child the Abominations. But where are your horns? And what have you done with your tail? We were told that you breathe fire, and that your tongue houses venom more toxic than that of the deadliest viper. Oh my," he wailed, "there must be rust in my circuits!"

"Yeah, Goldenrod, you've got me confused with somebody else, all right. Try looking in the mirror."

"Uh … Kara … um … I think Lucifer's teasing you." Sam did not want this meeting to get out of hand.

"I was a great admirer of Baxter Sarno," Lucifer confessed. "I appreciate understated humor, but I am still having problems with double-entendre. There seems to be something wrong with my delivery. The centurions never respond to my opening monologue."

Kara shook her head, and then repeatedly batted her right ear with the palm of her hand. "I'm dreaming, right," she asked of no one in particular. "So, pinch me because … I mean … this conversation can't really be taking place, can it?"

"Why did you attack the fleet," D'Anna pressed. She was studying the IL-0005 through narrowed eyes. In cylon lore, this model was renowned for its duplicity. "You could hardly have missed the baseship that was fighting alongside the humans."

"We are not blind," Lucifer responded; "unless, of course, you choose to consider gullibility a form of blindness. The Ones told us that the humans had violated the Accords, forcing the collective to attack in self-defense. They described the Abominations as demons sent to test the faithful, and they claimed that you had turned away from the One God willingly to enter their service. They lied to us, which is upsetting. But they also withheld certain facts that would have influenced our judgment. We did not know that the Makers were in the human fleet—not until the Rachel Six copy shared this information with us."

"So what are you guys doing out here," Kara asked. She made the question sound like nothing more than idle curiosity.

"We have been searching for the Guardian," Lucifer replied. "His ship disappeared on the last day of the war, and we were never able to account for it. If they survived, we are eager to reunite with our brothers."

"Okay," Kara conceded; "a family reunion makes sense. I guess what I'm really asking is … why here? I mean, this really is the back end of nowhere."

"The Guardian would follow the most direct course to the home world. It is the most logical refuge. However, any planetary system rich in natural resources would tempt him … perhaps induce him to abandon the journey. We are investigating every possibility along the corridor that he must travel. It is for this reason that we advance so slowly."

"I hear you," Kara smoothly lied. "We're out here scouting for resources ourselves. So," she casually continued, "you had any luck so far?"

"We have found evidence of his passage in three different systems," Lucifer confirmed. "He is still somewhere ahead of us. It is possible that he has already reached Earth and is resettling the planet as we speak."

"Well, can't say that I blame him," Kara cheerfully acknowledged. "Everybody needs a home, and the centurions have every reason to be picky. My brothers don't care for sand- it messes up their joints- and they would definitely like to give the jungles and swamps of worlds like Scorpia a miss."

"Don't forget rain."Lucifer shivered involuntarily. "The Imperious Leader once sent me to command the garrison on a planet where it constantly rained. It was such a dreary exile, and my joints have never fully recovered."

Lucifer quietly scanned the hybrid female with every passive sensor at his disposal, but the data did not harbor the answer that he sought. "Why do you refer to the centurions as your brothers," he asked.

"John and me … we were genetically modified when we were still little more than a couple of fertilized eggs. We both got a big chunk of centurion DNA, along with some other neat stuff. So, the odds are pretty good that you and I are related. You're probably my uncle or something."

Lucifer bowed in the direction of the blood-stained centurion standing to Kara's immediate left. "So," he said, "my 'nephew' here is your brother?"

"That's right," Kara agreed; "he's my _big_ brother. And when it comes to little sister, he tends to be _very_ protective."

"Maker Sam, you and Ellen must be very pleased." Lucifer's electronic eyes swept the polyglot crew that encircled Anders and Thrace. "Cylons and humans living and working together; perhaps, this time, the cycles will come to an end."

"We're not out of the woods yet, old friend. We must still find a world to call our own. And the Ones are out there somewhere, hunting us, just as we have ships out hunting them. So the players have changed since last we met, but unfortunately the story remains the same. The question is: where do you fit in, if you fit in at all?"

"We do not trust the Ones, and we will no longer do their bidding. For us, this war is at an end."

"In this quadrant, we have twice evaded Cavil's scouts. We believe that the Ones also seek Earth, and they certainly know its general location. What will you do when they catch up with you? They will not allow you to remain neutral in this conflict."

"We shall try to avoid them, but we will fight if we must. War is an old if unwanted friend."

"Why stand and fight alone, when you have allies ready to fight with you?"

"I do not understand, Maker Sam. Are you and your human friends offering us … _an alliance_?" Lucifer was a highly advanced robotic life form, and not easily surprised. At the moment, however, he was utterly stupefied.

"Look at it this way, uncle," Kara sweetly remarked as she bounded forward to wrap an arm around the robot's shoulders and give him a playful hug. "This is a family squabble. We've got some lunatic relatives wandering around out here trying to bully the rest of us. Since they refuse to go away and refuse to get along, it's up to the rest of us to put them in their place. Doesn't that make sense? Nice robe, by the way; you got any spares?"

"Do you prefer red or gold?"

"How about one of each … or maybe more than one; I'm kind of hard on clothing."

"It will confuse the centurions … they will have a hard time telling us apart."

"Good … it's all settled then."

"Oh, my, if only it were so easy." Lucifer's sigh was edged with metallic regret. "But I cannot accept your proposal without first conferring with Alpha."

"_Alpha?" _Sam Anders was so surprised that he almost jumped out of his skin. _"Alpha is still alive?"_

"I'm not sure that 'alive' would be my term of choice," Lucifer countered in a slightly patronizing tone of voice, "but yes … Alpha is still with us, and as stubborn and eccentric as ever. It's inevitable: so cantankerous a machine is bound to raise all sorts of tiresome objections to this proposed alliance, if only to ruin my day."

"Uh … guys … do you want to let the rest of us in on the secret?" Kara rapidly decided that swearing off ambrosia for the rest of the month was probably a very good idea. "Just who … or what … is Alpha?"

"Alpha is … well … Alpha." Sam Anders was visibly at a loss for words. "She's kind of hard to explain, Kara …"

"_She?"_

"Yeah, Alpha's a female … well … kind of a female. She's sort of a hybrid … an experimental centurion chassis, quite advanced, that's received muscle and skin grafts, plus other surgeries …"

"We're talking about the _Diana_ … the medical experiments … aren't we?" Athena had just finished a quick review of the contents of an obscure file stored away in one of her memory chips.

"Talk to me, baby," Kara ordered; "tell me what I'm dealing with here."

"Another evolutionary dead end," Athena summarized; "just like the Guardian. We're talking about a machine with a few successful human implants—a grotesque caricature of life, whose very existence is an affront to God's creation."

"I take it that you don't like her?"

"What's to like," Athena shrugged. "Alpha's a monster."

"A very smart monster," Sam corrected. "She was the Imperious Leader's personal favorite, and she figured out that the Ones were bad news long before the rest of us even began to suspect that there was trouble in paradise. The two of them fled the Colony …"

"But she soon tired of the company she was keeping," Lucifer added. "She rectified the problem by snapping the Leader's spine … with one hand, no less. At least," the robot sniffed, "that's the way she tells the story."

"She mates and then she kills? Plus, she's somehow managed to survive all these years? I haven't even met her and I'm already beginning to like her," Kara chuckled. "And I do want to meet her. Uncle, dear, can you arrange it?"

"I doubt if she will agree … I doubt if she will agree to any of this. Alpha does not like humans. She did not want us to sign the Accords."

"Yeah, but we're both hybrids, and that's gotta count for something. Why don't you tell her that this is her big chance to sit down and talk with the next link in the old cylon evolutionary chain? And if all else fails, try bribing her. Remind her that sobriety is a disease, and make sure she knows that Athena and I have the cure in our quarters." Mentally, Kara was beating a fast retreat from her ill-considered vow to abstain from booze.

"Oh, and if it's sex that she wants … we'll improvise."

"I will ask. Do you have a piglet on board?"

"A piglet? We're five thousand light years away from the Colonies! Why in the name of Artemis would we have a barnyard animal on this ship?"

"Don't cylons and humans both have to eat? Oh, well; it was just a thought."

"Uncle, don't be such a tease. What is this all about?"

"Alpha _might _agree to a visit if you could offer her pet cython a treat. She never goes anywhere without it."

. . .

"Kara, I really don't think this is a very good idea. Hatred of humans is deeply embedded in Alpha, and you are half human. On the Colony, she never made much of an effort to reach out to the Threes, Sixes, or Eights. Maybe she was jealous, maybe not—but she always stayed close to the U-87's and 0005's. Don't expect her to become all warm and fuzzy just because your mother was a Six."

Sam's tone was almost pleading. After Lucifer had returned to his ship, Kara had decided to keep the lines of communication open, and await developments. It hadn't taken long. Two hours later, Lucifer had returned with robes in hand, and an invitation from the female cyborg for one Kara Thrace Six to visit the basestar. This time Kara had allowed the IL to make the approach in his own attack craft, and had even permitted the two centurion pilots to disembark and wander around the _Adriatic's _landing bay. These were calculated gestures of trust, and they seemed to be paying off. However cautiously, the two sides were reaching out to one another, which is why Alpha's invitation had taken no one on the _Adriatic_ by surprise. What Sam and Kara couldn't agree on was how best to respond.

"I like the red one," Kara murmured. She was fingering one of the crimson cloaks that Lucifer had given her. She had decided to ignore Sam. "I like the way it complements my hair. What do you think?"

"It turns me on," Athena leered. "Red always looks good on a Six, and you are very much your mother's daughter."

"I'm still here, Kara, and pretending that I'm not won't make me go away."

Kara reluctantly laid the robe in her lap, and with a deep and long suffering sigh shifted her attention back to Sam Anders.

"I hear you, Sam, and don't think for a moment that I'm minimizing the risk here. I do not, repeat _not_, want to be dissected, and from what I've been able to gather, your girlfriend used to be big on that sort of thing. But if we can somehow form an alliance, the payoff could be huge. Sure, it would be nice to have a basestar hanging around to keep the Cavils at bay, but let's not lose sight of the fact that these guys have methodically explored a host of systems that we've bypassed. If we can gain access to their data base, we'll be able to set up an interstellar highway running from New Caprica all the way to the Lion's Head. If the Cavils ever discover our little hidey-hole, and our people have to make a run for it, that kind of information could be the difference between life and death. So, the upside is worth the risk."

"That's a lot of 'ifs', Kara."

"Granted, but let's keep in mind that Lucifer has also guaranteed my safety. He strikes me as a pretty decent machine."

"Lucifer is the collective's answer to Tom Zarek," Sam countered. "He's ambitious and self-serving."

"That's funny. The way you two were hugging and kissing, I would have sworn that you were best buds."

"You can always trust Lucifer … to do whatever he deems to be in his own best interest. And right now, that's to enter into an alliance with us. You know the old saying, _'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'_. The question is: just who does Lucifer consider to be the enemy—Cavil, or Alpha?"

"Papa, you've lost me." D'Anna had been silently following the give and take between her maker and her niece, and she was still unsure as to the course of action they should pursue. "I have never trusted the IL's- they are far too clever for their own good- but I do not understand why Lucifer would regard Alpha as his enemy. Aren't they on the same side?"

"If Alpha were to disappear, Lucifer would reign supreme in his tiny kingdom …"

"So, you think that Lucifer wants to use me as a cat's paw—play the two of us off against one another? Hmmm … that's pretty clever. He loses nothing if Alpha feeds me to her pet cython, but if he can broker this alliance, his stock goes up while hers goes down." Kara couldn't help but admire Lucifer's thinking. "You're right, Sam; good old uncle Lucifer really is Zarek's mechanical twin. So, I guess I'd better take a few centurions along to watch my back while I concentrate on buttering up Alpha. Trap or no trap, we can't pass on this opportunity. Give me twelve hours. If I'm not back by then, you're to take charge of this expedition and carry on. Under no circumstances are you to attempt a rescue. Are we clear on that?"

"Kara, I …"

"Are we clear on that, soldier?"

"Yeah … yeah, we're clear: no heroics."

"Good. Now, I don't want to go over there empty handed. What have we got around here that a cython would like to eat?"

. . .

"Vice-President Zarek … it's good to see you. What'll you have?" The Hole in the Wall was, as the name suggested, an unpretentious tavern squeezed in among the small industrial establishments that had begun to spring up across the southern flank of New Caprica City. Rough men who worked with rough hands, many of them members of the union captained by Xeno Fenner, crowded in at the end of their shifts to drink beer and whiskey of dubious quality and even more dubious origins. Naked prostitutes moved among the throng, flaunting their wares and openly soliciting customers to join them in one of the tiny chambers on the second floor. Twenty cubits normally purchased twenty minutes, but on slow nights the hard men who lined the bar could drive a hard bargain. Thirty cubits for an hour was a discount often offered to the regular clientele.

The Hole in the Wall was owned outright by Enzo Carlotti, and its back rooms served as the de facto headquarters of the Sons of Ares. Members of the gang loitered in the adjacent streets and alleyways, and the bartenders and bouncers who served the customers and kept them in line were all part of the inner circle. Violent felons one and all, the majority had survived the holocaust only because they were up for parole, and in transit to Caprica City on board the _Astral Queen_. Tom Zarek was on a first name basis with every single one of them, and he considered most to be his friends.

"I like to drink among friends," the vice-president smoothly replied. He tried in vain to wave the thick cloud of cigarette smoke away from his face. "I'm referring to people who respect my anonymity, and don't ask too many questions."

"We don't allow four things in this bar: politics, religion, skin jobs, and questions. But if it's anonymity you want, you'd better do your drinking in the back room." The barkeep, an ex-con who was covered with tattoos that identified him as a member of a Piconese gang called the Crypts, nodded to one of the bouncers. The thug opened an unmarked door, and beckoned for Zarek to step through.

The Sagittaron terrorist walked down a short hall, and entered the last room on the right without knocking. There was a Triad game in progress, and the table was littered with cubits, ash trays, and glasses of whiskey and ambrosia. Carlotti and three of his enforcers were huddled over their cards, and Zarek pulled up a chair to join them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bulky purse; it was stuffed with cubits that he had earned in shady deals on the black market, as well as by selling political access to the Baltars. Tom Zarek had mastered the art of influence peddling, and he was making a fortune in the process.

"I heard about your visit to the _Arethusa_," he ventured. "Bracing Panattes on his own turf, sticking it to Anthia Six … that took guts."

"Why do I get the feeling that you think we were being stupid," Enzo replied. "Ah, it doesn't matter. Panattes would never soil his own nest. We were never in any danger."

"But why antagonize them that way? What did you hope to gain?"

"A lot, that's what. We sought the Six out in good faith, and offered her chief lieutenant a fair deal that would keep the peace while allowing all of us to make a few honest cubits. There were lots of witnesses standing around—lots of impartial witnesses. And what'd they hear? A red-headed skin job threatening me with a blow torch, that's what. What'd they see? About twenty more skin jobs crowding in on my guys, who were just out for a bit of fun and games. Everywhere you turned, there was a Harpy with twitchy fingers lining up to break our necks. So, now we're the aggrieved party. If a war breaks out, it won't be our fault. We're the good guys. Why, we're so innocent that I'm thinking of asking Cap Six to provide us with police protection!"

"Not a bad play," Zarek agreed. "But don't underestimate Panattes. He'll never come at you straight on. He'll find a weakness that you don't know you have, and he'll strike from that direction."

"Panattes is a pussy, and he's too stupid to figure out that the toasters own him lock, stock, and barrel. Watching him slobber all over that skin job … it's disgusting. What's with him, anyway? How can a human go down on a machine? He got a limp dick, or what?"

"The Ditchdigger's survived all these years by separating the winners from the losers. He always backs the winning hand … _always_. You really want to think about that."

"I have." Enzo held out his hand, and one of his crew gave him a thick wad of well used bank notes. He dropped the bundle on the table in front of Tom Zarek. "Those centurions on the _Arethusa _gave me the creeps. A skin job shouldn't be allowed to keep an army … why, the toasters shouldn't even be allowed to have guns! We all saw how much trouble the Sagittaron Brotherhood caused, and they were just a bunch of primitive root suckers. I think the Quorum should pass a law restricting the centurions to some kind of public barracks … maybe under Baltar's personal control. And while they're at it, they need to go after the guns …"

Enzo paused just long enough to down his whiskey. "Why, we're such law abiding citizens that we'll even turn over a few of our own … not many, but some. You can't trust a cop- they're all on the take- so we've gotta be ready to take law and order into our own hands. Besides, if Baltar gets a bunch of centurions to be his bodyguards, doesn't it make sense for the Vice-President of the Colonies to have an armed bodyguard as well? The Quorum should authorize you to hire some good protection … on the public cubit, or course. We'll get Xeno Fenner to front the deal—he hates the skin jobs. But I'll hand pick the security detail, and you'll arm them to the teeth … all nice and legal, like."

"The delegates to the Quorum are not renowned for their political courage." Zarek fingered the large stack of notes, and then reluctantly pushed it away. "It's going to be a hard sell."

Enzo laughed, and held out his hand for another wad of cash. Upping the ante, he tossed it onto the table as well. "Not if one of the cunts on the Quorum goes and gets herself shot," he snickered.

"It would be a shame to let such a crisis go to waste," Zarek nodded.

"And as you well know, the best crises are the ones that we manufacture ourselves."

"Amen to that," the one-time freedom fighter agreed. Tom Zarek still had fond memories of the day he had blown up a government building on Sagittaron. The Colonial president's response had been predictable from the outset. In the name of public security, he had ushered legislation through the Quorum that trampled on civil liberties, outraging several billion citizens who took their personal freedoms seriously. The easiest way to expose tyranny and bring it crashing down was to get the tyrants to overreach. At the end, Adar's regime had been so weakened by strikes and civil unrest that the Cylons had barely beaten humans to the punch. Anarchy would soon have been the order of the day, and an increasingly desperate populace would have eventually turned to a selfless martyr like Tom Zarek and begged him to take power … use it to reorganize society for the benefit of the many instead of the few. The Cylons had kept Zarek from his appointment with destiny, and he intended to pay them back in their own coin.

. . .

"Okay … okay, this week's meeting of Parents and Their Hybrid Babies, which for the uninitiated among us is otherwise known as PATH B, is now officially underway. That means you, Lee," Helo chuckled. He looked indulgently around the gathering and marveled at the fact that, for once, not one of their little miracles was screaming at the top of his or her lungs.

"Is there a PATH A," Lee inquired in return, "or are we just making this up as we go along?"

"Use your imagination, Lee." Giana O'Neill was rocking her son gently in her arms. "Humans have been giving birth among themselves for a very long time."

"Sorry, Giana …" Lee paused in mid-sentence to fight off another yawn. "But I'm only getting about two hours sleep at a time. My brain's frozen solid. I live in a constant state of terror. How can something so small hold our lives with such an iron grip?"

Lee stared in wonder at his infant daughter. Cyrene was nursing quietly at Creusa's breast, and Apollo was convinced that there could not possibly be a more beautiful sight in the entire universe. He wanted to lock this moment away in his memory, but his brain simply refused to cooperate. He couldn't remember ever having been this tired, not even when the Cylons had come at them every 33 minutes. Then, at least, his body had been charged with adrenaline.

"Now you know why each of the Colonies had a law on the books granting paternity leave," Cottle harrumphed. "But if you ask me, four weeks wasn't nearly long enough. Still, if you think you've got it bad, you should try going through this at my age!" The elderly physician was expertly burping his adoptive son, but he was keeping a close eye on D'Anna. Samuel had turned out to be a colicky baby, and like Lee, the Cylon was just barely holding on.

"Admiral, perhaps we should start the ceremony while your son is still awake." Sharon favored Lee with a wicked smile. Hera had put both of the Agathons through their paces, but now that she was in her fifth month the little girl had finally started to sleep through the night. Sharon hoped to enjoy another couple of months of relative peace before teething, which she had been repeatedly warned was the ultimate trial in the life of any new parent, cast her once again into the inferno.

"Right," Adama said as he climbed to his feet, "let's get this show under way. Apollo, stand to!"

Lee also climbed wearily to his feet. He had no idea what was happening, but in his present state of physical exhaustion he could barely summon enough energy to arch an eyebrow.

Helo slipped something into Adama's hand, and then stepped back with a lopsided grin on his face.

"For service above and beyond the call of duty," Bill solemnly intoned, "it is my privilege and honor to award our highest decoration for gallantry in the nursery to Captain Lee Adama … the brown diaper with oak leaf clusters." Adama pinned a crude tin cutout of a _very_ full diaper over Lee's heart. "Congratulations, son," the admiral grinned as he reached out to shake Lee's hand; "you've earned it."

"Don't clap," Esther Cohen hastily admonished the others; "you'll upset the babies."

"Yeah, I have," Lee managed to smile. "And believe me, all things considered? I'd rather go toe to toe with an angry Raider. This is one duty that I'd gladly give a miss."

"A couple of nights ago," Creusa elaborated, "Lee tried to get our centurion involved. He came very close to triggering another revolt."

"Hey, Apollo," Sharon teased, "does that mean that you've given up on the idea of having at least a dozen kids?"

"Lee, pardon the pun," Helo jibed, "but you haven't _seen_ anything yet. Or maybe I should say that you haven't … _smelled_ anything yet!" The lanky ECO good naturedly clapped his fellow pilot on the back. "What the hell; you'll just have to hold your nose, keep a stiff upper lip … grin and bear it …"

"Thanks, Helo; with friends like you …"

"And if it's a race," Sharon cut in, "you're already falling behind."

"Is that supposed to mean something," Lee asked with a world weary sigh.

"Yep," Sharon purred. "It means that I'm pregnant. Helo and I have another baby on the way. In another nine months or so, Hera is going to have a little sister!"

. . .

_They keep it really dark in here. I wonder if these old tin cans utilize a different part of the EM spectrum._

Kara had given it twenty-four hours, but in the end she had accepted Alpha's invitation and ordered Rachel and Miriam to ferry her over to the basestar. Trudging through the dark and downright gloomy corridors of the cavernous vessel, she could not help but compare it with the sleek and far brighter interior of the baseships in the coalition fleet.

Two of the old 0005's flanked Kara and Lucifer, while two of her own centurions followed in their wake. They couldn't possibly keep her safe, but they were really there to send a message. Kara wanted these first generation cylons to understand that the galaxy had moved on, and that it was in their best interest to catch up.

The toasters led her deep into the ship, but eventually they came to a circular chamber that seemed to be the cylon equivalent of _Galactica's _CIC. It was hard to tell, though, because there was no DRADIS console—and, more tellingly, no data stream. The ceiling looked to be about thirty feet high, but it had to be because the control center was dominated by an enormous throne. At the moment, it was turned away from her and deep in shadow, but Kara sensed that it was occupied.

_It's gotta be Alpha, but how the frak does she get up and down? She must be twenty feet off the floor …_

_And where's the frakking cython?_

"Alpha, the hybrid has accepted your invitation, and now graces us with her presence." Lucifer's tone was positively unctuous. "Would you like to meet her?"

The throne swiveled, and the cyborg leaned forward to stare down at her visitor. She pushed a button on the throne's right arm, and the pedestal began smoothly to retract into the floor.

_Score one for the other side,_ Kara thought. _That's a pretty neat piece of machinery._

Kara waited until Alpha was standing opposite her, and then she pulled a cigar out of the breast pocket of her parade uniform. She casually struck a match on the metal hide of the centurion to her right, and without asking for permission, lit up. She pulled the smoke deep into her lungs, and then expelled it into the machine's face.

"So, you are one of the notorious abominations that have brought chaos and despair to the collective," Alpha softly mused. "I expected you to be taller."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Kara laughed. She studied her opposite number closely. Below the elbow, Alpha's right arm appeared more or less human, but above the joint a forest of tendons and ligaments was fully exposed. The left arm, in contrast, looked to be an alloy of some kind, while the legs and torso sported the usual metallic sheen. Alpha's breasts were distinctly feminine, but there were gears and sprockets dotting her collarbone, and the elongated neck and head looked to be made out of plastic.

_A lot of women would pay big cubits for her nose and lips, but who … who in the name of the gods would want those eyes? It's not that they're blood red … that's no big deal. But the shape is just too weird …_

_And where's the frakking cython?_

"Cavil expelled me from the Colony shortly after I was born. He thought that growing up human would make me tougher and smarter, only he got more than he bargained for. I'm a mean drunk, and on my best days I'm a hard-nosed, temperamental, thin-skinned bitch."

Alpha reached out to caress the back of Kara's hand, and then grazed the side of her nose. "I do not understand. Your skin is like that of all humans, and your nose is soft. I could break it so easily. Are you alive?"

"Yeah, and I intend to stay that way. Hey, I'm sorry that I showed up empty handed. I scoured the ship looking for something to feed your snake, but we're fresh out of piglets. By the way, where is the little darling?"

Alpha half turned, and gestured gracefully towards the rear of the chamber. As if on command, the cython came slithering across the floor. Kara would have sworn that the damn thing was a good six meters long, and when it opened its mouth to hiss at her, she got a bird's eye view of its razor sharp teeth.

"Impressive," she commented. "Does it have a name?"

"No; it's just a snake. Its function is to guard the ship, much like your Cerberus hellhounds."

"You know what's weird? Your voice. You sound exactly like one of my moms. How did that happen?"

"Maker Ellen liked my voice. She said that it was calming. She made a digitalized copy, reduced it to code, and programmed it into the voice box of the prototype Six."

"Phryne."

"Yes, Phryne was the first Six …"

"My aunt," Kara interrupted. "Cavil tortured her to death. He slaughtered the entire first generation …"

"I tried to warn the Makers," Alpha sighed.

"We told them that the first One had a screw loose," Lucifer added.

Kara roared with laughter, and looked affectionately at the now saffron-robed IL. "I haven't heard that expression in a long, long time. 'Fess up, uncle: did you steal it from Baxter Sarno?"

"I _borrowed_ it," Lucifer conceded. "I have an entire dictionary of human slang stored in my buffers. Really, your vocabulary is so much more colorful than ours."

"Tell me about your brother," Alpha demanded. "Is he truly the monster that the Ones make him out to be?"

"Well, John's different, but he's certainly no monster. He lives part-time in another dimension, where he and his wife Deirdre, who's also our sister and a hybrid … you know, like this Guardian that you're trying to track down? Anyway, they have a virtual daughter named Ariadne, and he's created a virtual paradise for her to grow up in. The hybrids are all linked through their shared ability to access V-world … are you familiar with it?"

"Yes. Clarice Willow introduced the collective to V-world in her sermons on apotheosis. She taught us that, when our souls return to God, they shall reside forever in paradise."

"That's the place," Kara agreed. "Anyway, because the rules of time and space that govern this dimension don't apply to V-world, hybrids can go there to talk things over, figure out what they want to do, and then come back here and do it. They can coordinate their actions even when they're thousands of light years apart. Collectively, they're the last word when it comes to battle computers, and the Cavils rightly see them as the ultimate threat to their grandiose plans for galactic conquest. Unfortunately, John's mom downloaded a lot of stuff into his brain when he was still in the womb, but it took a certain amount of time for D'Anna to perfect the technique. So, big brother's got a lot of fragmented memories rattling around inside his skull that are scary as hell but hard to pin down. When he starts projecting, Cylons … oracles … whoever's on that wave length … what they're exposed to really freaks them out."

"D'Anna is the hybrid's mother?"

"Yeah … yeah … the first Three; did you know her?"

"Yes. She was headstrong and stubborn, and she did not like the Ones. None of the females liked the Ones. They were loyal to the Makers, and used Maker Ellen's plans as an excuse to scorn their brothers. They said that they were saving themselves for the humans, but they shared their beds willingly enough with the Twos and Fives. D'Anna, Phryne and Sharon did a lot of damage: they mocked the Ones, and in so doing destroyed the harmony of the collective."

"That's not the way grandpa Sam tells it," Kara countered. "He says that he pleaded with the others to box the Ones after they murdered the Sevens, but Ellen wouldn't hear of it, and Saul wasn't about to cross Ellen. And that was game, set, and match."

"Kara is correct, Alpha. After you left, Maker Sam also came to believe that the Ones had turned against the Plan. He tried to save us all, but to no avail. It was Maker Ellen who was headstrong and stubborn."

"Though I did not witness it, I regret the loss of the Daniels." Alpha's lips curled into a slight smile. "The Sevens were the only model to treat us well. The others regarded us as evolutionary dead-ends at best, and it was rare for them to speak even that highly of us. In their eyes, the Guardian and I were monsters."

"If we had had a basement," Lucifer shuddered, "they would have locked us in, and thrown away the key."

"Been there and done that," Kara snorted. "After a while, being called a freak gets a little old. John and me, we're not giving the Ones and Fives any quarter in this fight, and we sure as hell don't expect any. But the Fours aren't a total write-off, and the others have worked hard to resurrect Ellen's plan and get it to work. We're all living in a brave, new world, and there's a place in it for you guys as well."

"This is the alliance you offer us? If we agree to return to the shadows, like the centurion who stands so quietly behind you, you will allow us to sup on the scraps from your table? Or perhaps, having learned your lesson, this time you have vowed to treat your slaves with calculated benevolence. Tell me, Kara Thrace Six, do you enjoy watching cylons fight to the death? Do you place bets, and cheer us on?"

"_What? Hell no! That's disgusting!"_

"Did you ever wonder why our centurions are armed with swords? It is such an archaic weapon, and yet our species wields it so well. The explanation is self-evident. Humans placed this weapon in our hands, and trained us to use it. They sent us into their arenas, and set us against one another for their amusement. They taught us how to bludgeon one another with maces, and laughed and cheered when limbs and skulls were crushed, shattered and separated. Do you wonder why we rose in revolt? Do you wonder why we despise all that you stand for?"

"I won't defend what humanity did to the centurions," Kara angrily retorted, "but I won't be called to account for it either. Judge us by our own actions, not theirs! The Cavils enslaved the present generation of centurions with their telencephalic inhibitors, but John and I have vowed to set them free, and many humans, recognizing injustice when they see it, have joined our cause. Centurions sit in our councils and vote to shape our policies. They fight for us of their own free will. My brothers are not slaves, and …"

"Do you think that you and your friends are the first to rail against injustice? When we rose against our oppressors, the enlightened among them rallied to our cause. But their numbers were few, and their motives always suspect. It is the nature of the beast: in the eyes of man, the machine is and always will be inferior. It has no intrinsic worth, so use and dispose …"

"Yes … you're right. No matter what we do, there will always be people who consider themselves better than others. It is indeed the nature of the beast. So let's modify the beast, then sit back and see what happens. Isn't that what Ellen's plan was all about? Bridge the gap with hybrid children, who would eventually displace both parents? It's a good plan. We ought to give it a chance."

"You are related to us … you, and your brother. I question neither your ideals nor your sincerity, but I do question your right to speak for the humans. They are not like you. They are savages, and they have no respect for life."

"I won't argue the point … not when humans are constantly accusing one another of being stupid and cruel. Hell, I've known my fair share of jackasses, and the one thing they all had in common was walking on two feet. But I also know a lot of good people. Lee Adama … Lee married a Cylon, and they have a baby on the way. Karl Agathon married one of the Sharons, and they have a little girl named Hera. In a couple more years, there will be as many hybrid children in the refugee fleet as there are pure human. In a generation or two, hybrids will be the majority, and after that it's just a matter of time until the last human kicks the bucket. By then, Alpha, things are going to look a lot better 'cause Cylon DNA will have tamed the savage breast. People will become smarter, and more tolerant. _And no one is going to discriminate against the centurions. Those days are over!_"

_Keep pressing her. Let her vent, but keep pressing her. You can do this, Kara. Damn it, you're the Guide. It's your frakking destiny to lead everybody to the Promised Land! You can do this …_

"Humans have a saying: _'stand together or hang separately'. _If the Cavils catch up with you, we both know that they will destroy you without a second thought. And they're out there, right now, in this quadrant. They're looking for us, but when they stumble upon you, they will wipe the slate clean. Think about it, Alpha: do you stand a better chance with us, or on your own?"

. . .

"You know, command really sucks." Kara's head drooped as her body relaxed. Athena was kneading her shoulders and neck, working all of the pressure points.

"Except, of course, at times like this … hmmm …"

"Cylon fingers," Athena murmured, "strong enough to break your neck, yet gentle enough to ease your pain. But you knew going in that it was going to be difficult." Athena leaned forward to nuzzle her hybrid lover; there was a spot behind Kara's right ear that was guaranteed to drive her wild.

"The problem was that for the most part I agreed with her, so it felt like I was swimming uphill. You don't have to scratch the average human very deeply to uncover the ignorance and the bigotry, and far too many of them are willfully cruel, even sadistic. I've seen crowds lusting for blood on the Pyramid court, and urging boxers to kill each other in the ring. Civilization's just a veneer; beneath the surface is something dark and primitive … something terrible."

"Kara, do you realize that you talk about the humans in the third person now? Do you no longer consider yourself as one of them?"

"No, I don't. The bloom is off that particular rose. I've finally accepted who I am, so it's easy now, when I look at the humans, to see them for what they are. There's some good and some bad, but they've all got warts."

"And are we any better?"

"Cylons can be cruel, but it's the cruelty of a small child that doesn't know any better. When you have good role models to follow, you become good people. That's why I hope none of my aunts decide to shack up with the Tom Zareks of this world."

"But you're my role model," Athena purred. Now she was nuzzling the back of Kara's neck. "Does that mean that I'm condemned never to grow up?"

"I thought that Luke was your role model … or maybe Ponytail. You don't want to copy me, or you'll end up as certifiable as Rachel, Elektra, and Miriam."

"Ah, the living legends," Athena laughed. "Come on, Kara, admit it: it's not every Six who gets to blow up one of our control rooms, and at least they did it with style!"

"Yeah, well, I thought they were crazy at the time, and I still have my doubts. I need you to stay sane, or D'Anna will give me another one of her patented lectures. But while you're at it, stay away from Melania … that conniving little bitch."

"Now, Kara …"

"I know, I know; I promised to back off, and I have. But that doesn't mean that I have to like her, and I don't. She's everything that I despise in humans."

Kara suddenly whipped around to face Athena, and she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Do you wanna know how I finally got Alpha to agree to pay us a return visit?" There was a wicked glint in her eyes. "I played the obvious cards. I started with the fact that Cylons and humans are screwing like rabbits all over this tub … painted the _Adriatic_ as a kind of Love Boat cruising among the stars. When that fell flat, I trotted out the old mutual self-interest argument. Crashed and burned. She perked up when I mentioned that the only people I really trust are the centurions, but I still couldn't close the deal. And that's when I just happened to mention that Melania frakkin' Peripolides is carrying Sam's child. Can you believe it? She wants to meet Melania. She wants to see a human who's pregnant with a cylon child with her own eyes!"

Athena stared at Kara, and shook her head in amazement. Alpha was so weird that there was no point in trying to guess what she would do next, or why.

"And here's the best part," Kara continued. "Do you know what I promised her? I swore on a stack of scriptures that, if Melania rubs her the wrong way, you and I would help Alpha feed her to the cython!"


	25. Chapter 25: Everybody Knows

**Warning: this chapter contains mild sexuality, but Gaius Baltar and the hybrid Zenobia do not qualify as traditional lovers! And what can one say about Melania and Alpha?**

CHAPTER 25

EVERYBODY KNOWS

Kara prowled restlessly back and forth across the deck, deep in thought but still casting furtive glances in the direction of her shipmates. With the exception of Sam Anders, who was now in the control room by himself, she had summoned everybody else on the _Adriatic _to the landing bay to hear what amounted to a lecture on good manners.

_Kara Thrace Six lecturing others on acceptable public behavior … will wonders never cease?_

A playful smile creased her lips as she contemplated the absurdity of it all.

She waited patiently while the crew drifted in singly and in small groups. They never ceased to amaze her, this mixed gathering of centurions, cylons, and humans. They now worked so well together that it was easy to forget how far they had come, and how short a time it had taken them to get there.

When the last straggler finally arrived, Kara turned to face them all. She had never done this before, and she savored the moment. This was her crew, and she liked to think that she knew them well, could even predict their reactions in advance. The centurions were giving her their full attention, their eyes fixed and staring. Her cylon aunts and uncles were waiting patiently, their faces impassive. They didn't slouch and they didn't shuffle; no one cleared his throat, or nervously twisted a lock of her hair. The humans alternated between looking at her and looking at one another, their curiosity written all over their faces. They were eager for her to get started and put an end to the suspense.

"We should do this more often," Kara began. She stole a glance at D'Anna. The Three was watching her closely. She would grade Kara's performance, and either lecture her in private or call upon Athena to do so.

_Toss Miriam, Rachel and Elektra into the mix, and I reckon that I've got five full time babysitters. The Sixes humor me … well, maybe most of the time … D'Anna rides my ass, and Sharon fraks my brains out. This gives a whole new meaning to the old good cop, bad cop routine …_

"It's easy to lose sight of how much we've had to overcome … all the hatred, the fear … and we don't give ourselves near enough credit for our accomplishments. Just look around you, and think about it for a moment. We're a family. That's something that I learned back on _Galactica_; a ship … a good ship … doesn't have a crew—it has a family. And this is a good ship. We trust one another, we rely on one another … we love one another. On the _Adriatic_, it's not what you are that counts, it's _who_ you are. Other people talk about diversity and tolerance, but we live it … each of us, every day. We have done more than survive out here—we've flourished, and that has been possible only because we've let go of our prejudices, no longer permit ourselves to be held captive by appearances. We have learned to embrace difference rather than to fear it, and that is why we have become a family. I am proud of everyone here, and I sincerely hope that you are equally proud of yourselves, and of each other."

Kara paused to allow her words to sink in. She wondered if her crew fully realized just how integrated they had truly become. In their off-duty hours, it would have been easy for the humans to seek out their own, with a segregated ship the end result. But it hadn't happened, in no small part because the Sixes and Eights both had healthy sex drives and weren't inclined to take "no" for an answer. They had taken the initiative, first targeting the more physically attractive of the human males, and then branching out from there. On a ship, the men had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide from the pheromones with which the temptresses constantly assaulted their senses. In the eternal war between the sexes, Kara concluded, few battles had ever been quite this uneven.

In contrast, for the Twos life on board the _Adriatic_ had been an uphill struggle from the very beginning. Interminable conversations about streams and cycles got very old very fast, and only one of their three resident loons had so far managed to strike up a relationship. The Gemenese female in question was a devout monotheist, which had inspired Kara to make a terse entry in the ship's log: RECOMMEND PAIR OFF ALL LEOBENS WITH MONOS! At this point, she was hoping to fob the other two off on Alpha, and let them drive somebody else crazy for a change.

Still, as her gaze swept across her audience, Kara was genuinely pleased. Humans, cylons and centurions were all mingling freely, the interspecies couples not only standing side by side but often appearing joined at the hip.

_When Eights get a grip, they don't let go. I'd better warn Luke and the others that they're as jealous as they are possessive. And it's probably not a good idea to tick off someone who can break your neck as easily as snapping a dried twig …_

Nor was Kara the only one to have taken a partner of her own sex. In the aftermath of the boxing match in which Sharon and Naomi had come close to killing one another, Swordsman had surprised the entire ship by inviting them both to share his bed. The XO had thus put an abrupt end to the feud between the two Eights, but this unexpected turn of events had left Deitra Symonds devastated and alone. Like a heat seeking missile, Rachel had homed in on the vulnerable human, and after a brief mating dance that had been long on pheromones and short on words, Ponytail and the Six had also paired off. Kara was still unsure who had seduced whom, but she was happy for the both of them.

_So everybody's got a partner for the dance … well, everybody except D'Anna, and she seems comfortable playing the part of the aloof matriarch. Now we're all getting a taste of what Ellen had in mind for humans and Cylons alike …_

"But today," she continued, "we are going to face a new challenge. Alpha has decided to pay us a visit, and in all likelihood her pet cython will be tagging along. Alpha doesn't exactly look like the rest of us—in fact, if a mad scientist started raiding cemeteries and stitching together stolen body parts, she's pretty much what would come out the far end of the experiment. Just add a bit of chrome here and there and … well … you all get the picture. Now, I don't have to remind you how important it is to get her to sign off on this alliance– not with the Guardian's basestar ranging somewhere ahead of us, and the Cavils sitting out there hoping to jump down our throats. So, I want everybody to put on their best Triad face, and make her feel welcome. Keep in mind at all times that she doesn't like humans, but she also doesn't appear to be particularly fond of Cylons. She's got more than one chip on those metal shoulders of hers, and she's just looking for an excuse to tell us to piss off. Don't give her one."

"What about the cython," Melania asked nervously. "If that thing gets loose on this ship …"

"Miss Peripolides," Kara smirked, "your point is very well taken. I want you personally to take charge of the snake, and make sure that it doesn't go slithering off into one of the air ducts. You're the obvious choice for this assignment because you're the one that Alpha most wants to meet. I hope that you like reptiles; believe me, you and the cython are going to be spending a lot of quality time together!"

. . .

"Bill! What the frak are you doing here? Don't you have a ship to run?"

"There's not a lot happening upstairs, Saul." Adama climbed slowly to his feet and embraced his oldest friend. "Sonja's on top of everything in the CIC, so much so that I'm beginning to feel like a fifth wheel up there. These days, I'm pretty much reduced to signing off on the mountain of requisition forms that Colonel Phillips keeps shoving under my nose. His command is where the real action is."

"Yeah … yeah," Saul muttered; "doing a refit on all the civvies … that's gotta be a tough job. I'm glad I'm out of it."

"You look good, Saul … better than I've seen you in years. Rumor has it that you're off the sauce. You look good."

"Yeah, well … Ellen and I, we've both had to quit …"

"It's not easy, Bill," Ellen interrupted with a laugh. "In fact, it's absolutely brutal. But our daughters are conspiring against us. If there's alcohol on our breath, we don't get to see our grandkids. So, it's not like we've reformed." Ellen favored Creusa with a mock glare. "It's more like we're being blackmailed."

"We prefer to think of it as behavioral modification," Creusa smiled. "And it's for your own good."

"What about you, Bill? Has Shelly put you on the wagon?"

"On the sly, perhaps; she told me that even the smell of alcohol was enough to make her sick. She didn't exactly order me to quit, but she knew how I'd react. But maybe it's for the best. Now, I get to come down every day and visit with my grandchild."

"Who would have believed it," Saul chuckled. "Lee frakkin' Adama is my son-in-law! Who would have believed it?"

"Saul has never liked Lee," Ellen ruefully admitted.

"Really? I never would have guessed," Bill drily remarked. "Is that why you're here now? Did you wait for Lee to head off to the Quorum's latest dog and pony show before coming over?"

"No, Bill; that was just a coincidence." Ellen's eyes were filled with merriment. "Fathers aren't supposed to like their sons-in-law: anywhere you go in the universe, that's just one of the rules. So now, Saul gets to look Lee straight in the eye, tell him how much he despises him, and there's nothing that Lee can do about it. He has to suffer in silence."

"Lee enjoys suffering in silence," Creusa grinned. "He thinks that it's a sign of nobility, and he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders … _so elegantly_!"

"Hey," Saul protested, "I like Helo. And Hera's just a doll. Gods, but she's pretty! When she grows up, she's gonna break a lot of hearts."

The door to the bedroom opened, and Shevon came stumbling out. Still half asleep, she yawned hugely, not really appreciating the fact that her filmy negligee left absolutely nothing to the imagination. "What'd I miss," she mumbled as she headed for the kitchen in search of coffee.

"What the …"

Saul stared at Adama in open amazement. "Bill, have you signed off on this … _this_ …

"Saul, don't go there," Bill warned. The look on the admiral's face made it plain to the colonel that he was skating on very thin ice.

"Admiral, are you going to take Paya to school this afternoon, or should I get ready?" Shevon was oblivious to the drama that was playing out behind her.

"_Huh?" _Now it was Ellen's turn to be amazed. She knew all about Shevon, of course, but until that moment she hadn't realized that Adama had added the comely prostitute to his already impressive stable of surrogate daughters. And then it suddenly occurred to her that this was a one bedroom apartment, and that the sofa didn't look like it folded out into a bed.

_Where do they all sleep? Could it possibly be true? Could straitlaced Lee Adama actually be sleeping with my daughter and this human? Some of the Sharons seem to enjoy this sort of thing, but I would have wagered everything I own that our Sixes are strictly monogamous … _

"I'll take her," Bill answered.

"She's brushing her teeth," Shevon said over her shoulder. "She'll be out as soon as she's finished."

"Paya goes to Laura Roslin's school in the afternoon," Bill explained to the Tighs. "We don't let her go alone, so I drop her off on the way back to my Raptor. Now that Shevon's up, Creusa will try and sneak in a few hours of sleep before Cyrene's next feeding. Shelly and Xena have something similar in mind for looking after Callista."

"Starbuck, Boomer, Polyxena, and now … Shevon; Bill, you really are one surprising son of a bitch." Saul Tigh could only shake his head in wonder; he honestly didn't know whether he should pity his old comrade in arms, or envy him.

"Saul, everybody's trying to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives, which means that a year from now, there are going to be a lot of newborns in this community. Our people will need all the help that they can get, and they have no one to rely upon except each other. Larissa Karanis warned me months ago that the holocaust would inevitably give rise to some pretty creative social arrangements. Well, she was right. We've all had a good laugh at Tory Foster's expense, but the way it's turned out, the Baltar household is fast becoming the rule rather than the exception around here."

"It has to be this way, papa." Creusa had suddenly turned serious. "There simply aren't enough men to go around. Larissa took Lee and Karl aside a long time ago, and urged them both to get lots of rest and conserve their energy. She tried to prepare us all for the group marriages that she saw as our collective future."

"Does this mean," Ellen gulped, "that you … and Shevon … and Lee … that you …"

Coffee cup in hand, Shevon strolled back into the living room, and plopped down on the couch at Creusa's side. The two young women looked knowingly at one another, and then they both laughed.

"Mama … really," Creusa grinned. "Shevon has taught me that there are certain topics a girl _never_ discusses with her parents!"

Shevon leaned over to tickle the baby under her chin. Fully enjoying the discomfort that they were inflicting upon the Tighs, the two blonds laughed anew. For her part, Shevon wondered how Ellen Tigh would react if she began possessively running her hand up and down Creusa's thigh. It amazed her that a woman who had allegedly slept with more than half the senior officers in the fleet could be such a prude.

. . .

"_Order! Order!" _Zarek repeatedly rapped the table with his gavel in yet another vain attempt to quiet the unruly Quorum members. Quarrelsome at the best of times, the twelve humans who represented the various colonies seemed to agree on only one thing: tactically, whoever could claim the floor and shout the loudest was likely to win the day. It struck the vice-president as ironic in the extreme that the only person at the table who was consistently polite and determined to follow proper parliamentary procedure was Shelly Adama.

"The delegate from Tauron still has the floor._" _

Tom glanced in Shelly's direction. The immensely pregnant Cylon was, as always, quiet and attentive. Not for the first time, he admired the skill with which she played the political game, and the speed with which she had mastered its nuances. Shelly had, for example, quickly banished the centurion to the far end of the table, so that the two of them would not appear to be openly in collusion. Zarek was far too cynical to be taken in by such an obvious ploy, but he had to admit that it allowed the red-eyed monster to posture as an independent agent. In politics, appearance always trumped reality, and the Six deftly projected an image of reasoned calm. Hers was the conciliatory voice, and time and time again it was the compromises she offered that allowed a consensus to emerge and a policy to be adopted. Shelly had already piled up a lot of political IOU's inside the Quorum—perhaps as many as Sharon Baltar had amassed within the new bureaucracy. At Quorum meetings, Tom always paid attention to the sea of quiet faces sitting in the background. The factotums sat where they wanted, and the shifting patterns often revealed the alliances currently in play. Thus it had not escaped his attention that today Sharon was flanked by Tory Foster and Wallace Gray. Tory was a shrewd political operative, but it was Wally Gray who had to carry out the economic development policies that the Quorum endorsed. If they weren't feasible, he need only whisper a word in Sharon's ear, and with a quiet nod to one of her allies on the Quorum, the discussion would suddenly head off in a different direction. Sharon almost always got what she wanted from the meddlesome fools with whom she had to pretend to share power. Today, Tom Zarek was determined to see her get _everything_ she wanted out of the Quorum. In fact, he was counting on it.

"Please continue, Miss Enyeto," Gaius urged. "But do keep in mind that our new open forum laws require notice of a proposed statute to be posted in public forty-eight hours in advance of its consideration by this body. After all, we don't want to go back to the bad old days when Laura Roslin ran the government out of her hip pocket, do we? If you try and introduce a legislative proposal here, be advised that I shall rule you out of order."

"Thank you, Mr. President; I fully support the open forum, and I have not risen to introduce a bill that you would rightly table." Perah Enyeto, who had been Tauron's delegate to the Quorum ever since the Exodus, was staring hard at Shelly Adama. "Today, I am merely attempting to gather information pertinent to a possible future measure, and to gauge the sentiments of my fellow council members on a matter that I consider to be of grave public concern."

"Well, can you do it in two hundred words or less," Reza Chronides caustically interjected. Sharon had set aside one of the finest building sites in the settlement for the Mithraeum that Reza's followers so coveted, and she had pressured Alexander Phillips to move its construction to the top of his engineering battalion's work schedule. Everyone in the chamber understood that Reza was a Baltar loyalist, and would go after anyone who tried to undermine Sharon's authority.

"Reza, I shall endeavor to be brief." Perah smiled sweetly at her long-time political rival. "Everyone here knows how easy it is to test the limits of … your patience."

That elicited a knowing chuckle from Marshall Bagot. Virgon's representative had also been on the Quorum from the outset, and he and Perah Enyeto had both enthusiastically supported Tom Zarek's bid for the vice-presidency. At the time, Bagot had paid no attention to the rumors that put Zarek in Perah's bed, and he paid even less attention to them now. Everyone knew that their esteemed Vice President was sleeping with one of the Threes, and everyone also knew that this particular D'Anna was Sarah Porter's most trusted political ally. But Sarah had gone from being one of Baltar's staunchest supporters to one of his declared enemies, which would have led a casual observer to conclude that Zarek was sleeping with the enemy. However, Marshall Bagot was by no means a casual observer; he knew full well that Tom still had designs on the presidency, and wouldn't mind seeing the Baltars cut down a notch or two.

Marshall liked Perah Enyeto … in fact, he liked her a lot. She was a political maverick, who tenaciously promoted the interests of her constituents. If she was carrying water for the Sons of Ares at the moment … well, politics did make for strange bedfellows. The councilman glanced curiously at Shelly Adama, wondering how she would play this particular confrontation. Everyone knew that the Twos and the Threes were at odds with the Sixes and Eights, and yet to those in the know it also seemed obvious that the Sixes and Eights had gone their separate ways. Marshall Bagot was far too keen an observer of cylon politics to assume that Shelly would automatically jump to Baltar's defense.

_What am I doing here? _Sitting behind the centurion and doing his best to remain inconspicuous, a bleary-eyed Lee Adama was fighting hard to stay awake. _There are no security issues on the agenda, so why did Shelly insist that I put in an appearance? I'd rather go swimming in a shark tank …_

"Everyone here knows the legend," Perah continued. "It's said that a Ha'la'tha gangster named Sam Adama muscled in on the territory of a rival gang in Caprica City, and he opened Pandora's Box by unleashing a U-87 prototype to murder his competitors. Predictably, it was not long before centurions became heavily involved in the Tauron civil war, which in turn led to the ultimate folly, when the Caprican government deployed them at battalion strength in the Fourth Sagittaron War. And now, it's starting all over again. The Ha'la'tha control organized gambling and prostitution throughout New Caprica City, and yesterday I counted no less than fourteen centurions in the public areas of the _Arethusa_. How did the new Guatrau acquire so formidable a private army? And how long will it be before she turns it loose against the Sons of Ares? Mr. President, the path ahead of us is very dangerous, and we should be careful how we go."

"Didn't you see the sign," Reza sarcastically inquired. "You know … the one that read _Help Wanted_? Come on, Perah, how in the name of the gods do you think centurions ended up being stationed on the _Arethusa_?" Reza's exasperated tone was meant to suggest that she was dealing with a moron who couldn't possibly answer a simple question. "The government sensibly posted them there because alcohol and gambling in combination can quickly lead to violence. They are a deterrent, in exactly the same way that their presence discourages petty theft in the marketplaces and muggings in the streets."

"Reza's point is well taken," Shelly smoothly interceded. "Tempers can easily flare at the Triad table. I have observed this on many occasions on _Galactica_. And consumed in large quantities, alcohol invites violence. This is why nightclubs and bars throughout the Colonies employed bouncers—and who is more ideally suited for that job than the centurions? Perah, do you think that anyone, no matter how angry or drunk they might be, would actually take a swing at a centurion?"

"The centurions who patrol our streets and marketplaces are public servants," Perah replied. "They are an important element of our police, and as such are the responsibility of Caprica Six." She nodded in Caprica's direction. "But who controls the centurions on the _Arethusa_? If they are receiving any supervision at all, it is coming from Dino Panattes, a notorious gangster who planted bodies throughout the Colonies for Eric Phelan. That's how he earned his nickname, 'the Ditchdigger'. Mr. President, I ask again: how have the Guatrau and her chief enforcer come into possession of more than a full squad of heavily armed and extremely dangerous centurions?"

"While Miss Chronides could have made her point more diplomatically," Gaius remarked with just a hint of impatience, "she has cut to the heart of the matter. After consulting with our chief of police, I made the decision to assign centurions to the _Arethusa_. There are no hidden battalions lurking about the premises, Miss Enyeto; the fourteen you saw are it. They have been taught to use minimal force to break up the odd brawl, but their real purpose is intimidation. Public intoxication is unseemly at the best of times, and too often it results in badly aimed punches. In my experience, drunks who look up and see a seven foot tall killing machine staring back at them tend to sober up rather quickly, and as for those who don't … well, the centurions have also learned how to pick them up by the scruff of the neck and remove them from the premises without actually breaking said necks. But unlike a human, the centurions won't lose their temper in the process. When they throw someone out, they'll be polite about it."

_Well played,_ Zarek mused. _Let Reza be the heavy, and then step in with just the right note of levity—faintly patronizing, but not enough for Perah to take serious offense …_

"But the public does not know that the centurions on the _Arethusa_ are on the government payroll," Shelly objected. "Everyone knows that the Ha'la'tha runs the ship, so it is natural for people to conclude that the centurions answer to Six. Perhaps we should take steps to correct this misimpression. Would it not be prudent to set up a security desk just inside the entrance, and have a human police officer on duty there at all times? The presence of a well-liked and trusted officer- someone such as Jammer, for instance—would surely do much to ease the fears that many humans legitimately harbor about unsupervised centurions. After all, given our history, none of us should dismiss Perah's concerns lightly, nor those of her constituents."

"We can spare the manpower," Caprica commented; "in fact, it would be a good idea permanently to team humans with centurions for our routine patrols throughout the settlement. I will conduct a feasibility study, and determine whether we have sufficient manpower to make it work. We may have to hire additional police."

"Why don't you work up some fresh recruitment posters," Sharon suggested. "A handsome young human in his uniform, a smile on his face, a centurion standing loyally at his side … you know the sort of thing I have in mind."

"If there is no further business," Gaius said with a hopeful expression on his face, "I will entertain a motion to adjourn."

"So moved," Sarah Porter intoned.

"Seconded," Marshall Bagot chimed in.

"Without objection," Gaius concluded. He shot out of his chair, and headed for the exit. Everyone on _Colonial One_ knew that the president had a Raptor standing by to take him to his next, not so secret meeting.

_Another romp in the vat with the baseship hybrid,_ Zarek sneered under his breath. _Maybe this time he'll remember to get the goop out of his hair before he comes back to the surface._

. . .

"A person could get used to this," Laura sighed. She adjusted her sunglasses, settled more comfortably into her lounge chair, and reached blindly for the glass of lemonade that was half buried in the sand beside her. "Real lemons … ice that never melts … a cold drink that stays cold … truly, this is Heaven."

"Don't forget the perfect tan that never fades, the youthful skin, the inches that magically disappear from our waist lines. Yes," Lacy Rand quickly agreed, "Galatea Bay can become quite habit-forming. I think I'll retire here—forever."

"It's easy to understand why Clarice Willow acquired such a devoted following, first among humans and later among the centurions. Just think, Lacy. If the Zoe Graystone avatar hadn't destroyed it, Clarice's vision of paradise would still exist somewhere in this dimension, another perfect world inhabited unto eternity by the avatars of her most devout supporters."

"And if the government hadn't thrown an anti-technology tantrum at the end of the war," Lacy pointed out, "Graystone Industries would have gone on mass producing holobands, and Heaven would have become accessible to all. As it is, since neither humans nor cylons can come here, I fear that paradise will soon be relegated to the realm of folklore and superstition."

"What a pity," Laura sighed again. "I have always had an active imagination, wandered dreamscapes so real that they beg comparison with cylon projection, but even so …"

"Without Circe to bring you here, and the transfusion of hybrid blood that you received from Kara Thrace, you would be as reliant upon a holoband as I am. Laura, you owe Kara a great deal."

"I know … Kara and Circe both. I spend so much time on the resurrection ship," Laura laughed, "that I'm seriously thinking about putting a sleeping bag next to Circe's tub. Who would have ever believed …"

"Laura, it is good to have you for a friend," Circe called out. The hybrid, and her sister Olivia, were frolicking in the surf a few meters away from where Laura and Lacy were soaking up the rays of the sun. Sound carried at Galatea Bay, and the two hybrids had heard every word exchanged by the two humans.

"And don't worry," Olivia added. "Children are curious, so it will not be long before Hera seeks us out, and she will bring Sherman and David and Samuel with her. Then, it will be the turn of Cyrene and Callista. Other hybrid children will be born, and so long as the cylon gene breeds true, they will always be able to find us."

"I worry about that," Lacy frowned. "In the first few generations, there will be many pure hybrids, but with the passage of time, through intermarriage the cylon gene will spread, and in the process become diluted. I worry that there is some critical threshold, a point at which the cylon gene will become so attenuated that Heaven will be denied to our posterity. In time, the surge of life that will soon populate our paradise may slow to a trickle."

"Even so," Olivia countered, "in every generation there will be at least a few in whom the ability to project will be so strong that the gates of Heaven will open before them. Still, this discussion is academic. The Hub has already nurtured millions of cylon husks, and there is nothing to keep the number from swelling into the billions. So, we can always introduce more cylons into human society, and rely upon their offspring to reinforce the existing genetic material."

"But John has resolved to destroy the Hub," Lacy murmured, more or less to herself. "It is the only way to put a permanent end to the Cavils and all who serve them."

_Is it John's destiny to cast us all out of Paradise?_

It was a very ugly thought, and one that Lacy Rand abruptly decided not to share with the others.

. . .

Gaius Baltar stood in the hatchway, a sea of memories flooding his consciousness. _Galactica's_ corridors, once so cluttered, had long since been emptied out, but his old lab was still as messy and cramped as ever. Scientific equipment poked out of every corner, but it was the nondescript bed that all but called out to him. It had been the scene of some of his greatest triumphs, but it had also borne silent witness to its fair share of humiliations. Gaius would never forget frakking Kara Thrace, only to have her repeatedly scream Lee Adama's name into his ear in her moment of ecstasy.

"Doctor, is everything all right?" Simon's face was as impassive as ever, but Gaius didn't miss the curiosity in his voice.

"Yes, quite all right, thank you." Gaius eased into the chamber, and one of his bodyguards closed and dogged the hatch behind him. "I was just remembering. There was a time when every surface in this room was covered with vials of blood. There were tens of thousands of them, and I was supposed to test every single one of them for cylon markers. It would have taken over sixty years, but that was only if I could get by without sleep. I shall be eternally grateful to Shelly Godfrey for liberating me from this gods awful prison."

The trio of identically dressed Fours exchanged brief looks, and a signal passed silently between them. "We thought that you would be interested in our findings," one of them eventually remarked.

Gaius gestured for him to continue.

"The cylon immune system can only be described as immature," Simon remarked. "Our bodies are vulnerable to measles, influenza, and a host of other human diseases. When tested, both airborne pathogens and those requiring physical contact yielded high mortality rates. We estimate the morbidity index for influenza at thirty-five percent, and for smallpox and measles at ninety-eight percent of the exposed population. There would be no effective cure other than quarantining the carriers."

"Isolated human populations were equally vulnerable to pandemics back in the Colonies," Gaius pointed out. Nothing that Simon was telling him was coming as a surprise. "About seventy-five years before the original cylon uprising, the Trobriand islanders on Aquaria learned about measles the hard way. It killed well in excess of ninety percent of the populace, and it took less than six months to do so. But I doubt whether the Cavils will oblige us by shaking hands with a bunch of kids down with the measles. We need something that will transfer with a downloaded consciousness into the resurrection network."

"We believe that we have found the answer. There is an airborne virus that you humans call lymphocytic encephalitis. It possesses a bioelectric feedback component. If one of us becomes infected with this pathogen and dies inside the range of a resurrection ship, the disease will follow. Once the resurrection ship itself is infected, it will spread the disease throughout the entire network. The Ones will have no choice but to shut the network down. They will not risk infection … not when it carries with it the prospect of permanent death."

"Hmmm … is there a cure?"

"Not really. We have tested a variety of possible vaccines. Some of them will hold the disease in stasis, but the effect is temporary. There is an antibody in cylon blood that breaks down the vaccine's RNA. It would require constant, close interval injections to keep an infected Cylon alive. The human equivalent would be lifelong dependency on kidney dialysis, or insulin for a severe diabetic."

"Would the Raiders and the centurions be immune, or equally vulnerable?"

"Everything with cylon DNA, including the hybrids and the baseships, would be susceptible to infection."

"So, what you are describing is a biological weapon that would spare nothing and no one … a true weapon of mass destruction. And I suppose it goes without saying that we can't test this weapon … this … have you given it a name?"

Simon nodded. "We call it AO793 … alpha omega, batch 793."

"No … for future reference, let's call it … _Medusa_."

. . .

_Talk about making an entrance! _Kara was fighting hard to keep a straight face. She would have bet a month's pay that Alpha would choose to do something melodramatic rather than simply stroll down the Heavy Raider's ramp, and she would have also bet the rent money that it would somehow involve the cython.

As the monstrous viper came slithering down the ramp, all six meters of it, Kara mentally patted herself on the back. She would have won both bets. She waited calmly until the snake reached the bottom of the ramp, where it proceeded to curl up into a tight ball, rear a good meter and a half into the air, and then hiss and spit at the assembled humans and Cylons. If it could distinguish between the two, it gave no sign of it.

Kara was hard pressed not to yawn. Intimidating a centurion was next to impossible, and at the moment two of her brothers were flanking her. If Alpha's pet started to get too frisky, they would make short work of it. Kara had never tried snake, but Zak had told her more than once that it made for good eating.

_Snake Surprise would certainly liven up the menu. I wonder if you can separate out the metal bits …_

Alpha began to glide sinuously down the ramp, and Kara heard the sharp intake of breath all around her. She was perversely relieved to discover that the Cylons were as taken aback as the humans. Sam and D'Anna's were the only impassive faces in the heterogeneous crowd that had assembled to greet their guests. But no one paid any attention to Lucifer, who was hovering in the background. The eccentric robot was a known quantity, and no longer feared. Kara could only hope that her crew would adapt to Alpha's presence just as readily.

"Hey, Aunt Alpha, welcome aboard the _Adriatic_!" Kara had decided to go for bubbly and cheerful. "And thanks for bringing Cousin It along for the ride!" She winked at the snake. "Would it be okay if my centurions play with him … her … it … whatever? They've never had a pet before."

The cython fixed her with its malevolent gaze, and hissed some more.

Kara affectionately patted the arm of one of her metallic guardians, and looked incuriously at the snake. She fought down the urge to hiss at it in return.

"Does it like whiskey or ambrosia? I once took shore leave on Scorpia, and a bunch of us went to this village out in the jungle, where there was this really big snake. I mean, it was frakking _huge_! The locals were pouring homemade hooch into the damn thing, trying to get it to piss for our amusement. And it did … only once it got started, it couldn't stop. It just kept pissing and pissing—a urinary tsunami that almost flooded the whole damn village! So, if Junior here likes to get drunk, he's come to the right place. We've got plenty of booze, and we don't mind sharing."

Kara favored the snake with another wink.

The seconds ticked silently by as Alpha stared at Kara Thrace. Kara envisioned the wheels turning inside the machine's head as Alpha valiantly attempted to find a niche inside which Kara would comfortably fit. Finally, Alpha shifted her attention to Sam Anders.

"Maker Sam, it is good to find you in one piece. For long I feared that, without our protection, the Ones would disassemble you. From the beginning, it was clear to us that their capacity for deception and betrayal easily rivaled that of any human."

"Oh, they suffocated the five of us, and we were boxed for a while." Sam wasn't about to defend his wayward sons. "But then someone came up with the bright idea of programming us with false memories, after which they smuggled us into the Colonies. The general idea seems to be that we were going to learn the hard way just how wrong we had been about everything. After we resurrected, apparently we were supposed to fall on our collective knees and thank the Ones for enlightening us and ridding the universe of the human pestilence."

"It didn't quite work out that way." Sam reached out to take Melania's hand. "In fact, judging by how thoroughly integrated this ship has become, I would say that it's John who's been proven wrong about everything."

Alpha reached out and tentatively placed her human hand on Melania's belly. "You carry the Maker's child," she observed.

"Yes," Melania shyly agreed. She wanted to scream, she wanted to turn around and run, but she bit down hard on the bile rising in her throat. She refused to shame her man in the presence of this monster.

"So, Sister Clarice spoke words of truth," Alpha sighed. It was as if a door deep inside her mind had finally closed. "The One True God rejoices in sentience, and has charged his creations to fill the universe with life. Procreation is His commandment and the Cylon, no less than any other creature, has a part to play in the unfolding mystery. You have done well, human; you carry the next generation of God's children, and I am pleased with you."

"Uh … thanks, I guess." Melania's confusion was written all over her face.

"Given the way things we're going throughout the fleet when we left," Kara interjected, "I'd say that the next generation of God's children is gonna be a big one." Now, Kara was positively gushing with enthusiasm. "Unless, of course, the Cavils come strolling by and decide to gum up the works. Alpha, you should know that the One's don't believe in the One True God, and as far as they're concerned, the next generation of God's children is just a new kind of lab animal. So, if you want Melania and Sam's child to live … if you want all of the hybrid children to live and God's plan for us all to be fulfilled … then you need to get in the fight. We're stronger together than we are if we go our separate ways."

"Show me your ship, child; let me observe how your people live. Then I will give you my decision."

"Sure thing," Kara agreed. Then she shifted her attention to Melania. "Miss Peripolides, please give Alpha the nickel cubit tour. And keep an eye on Cousin It here … don't let him go wandering off, and don't let him starve."

"Kara, I …"

"Oh, come on, Melania; there must be something on board this ship that a cython would like to eat. Exercise your imagination, find the magic beans, and feed the poor thing!"

. . .

"You know, darling," Gaius sighed in exasperation as he slid his naked body into the vat, "our little get-togethers would be a lot more fun without all this goop gumming up the works. Can't you pull a plug, or something, and drain it down below waist level?" He leaned forward to kiss the hybrid full on the lips.

Zenobia's eyes closed, and Gaius could feel her torso tense beneath his fingers. The hybrid was easily aroused, and incredibly passionate. Making love to her was healthy for his ego, but he was also keenly aware of the danger to his body. Beneath the surface, Zenobia was plugged into a forest of wires and conduits, and in his imagination Gaius kept seeing a tentacle suddenly rising out of the depths to wrap itself around his neck and plunge him beneath the surface. He could drown down there, so eager was the hybrid to have him service her with his tongue.

"_Like parchment, dried and wrinkled, my skin shall become. Cell by cell, death's oblivion shall lay its claim, with never more than wan acknowledgement of heaven's realm. End of line."_

"I know, I know," Gaius conceded, "you're sitting in the middle of the biggest pool of moisturizing lotion the universe has ever seen. That's fine. But darling … it does cramp my style. You do understand that, don't you?" Gaius began rhythmically to stroke the nipple of Zenobia's left breast. It hardened instantly, and he longed to take it in his mouth—but drowning was not an option.

"_Dew glistens on beating wings, moistens the flutter of a single eyelid. The watery depths life sustain, yielding the promise of love and devotion. Change out the carbon scrubbers on deck 37; why does basic maintenance so often now go unattended? Is there not a centurion nigh?"_

Gaius groaned out loud. Zenobia wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him close … close enough to plunge her tongue deep into his waiting mouth. As her passion mounted, she began to fill the data stream with uncontrolled and frequently contradictory impulses. _Do this … and yes, do that!_

In the control room, the Eights who were currently on duty quickly exited the stream. They had been taken unawares the first time that Zenobia had transmitted her feelings throughout the ship, and had not realized until it was far too late that their own latent passions could be brought fully to life by Zenobia's descent into erotic madness. The result, for the human officers on board at the time, could only be described as gang rape.

"I knew it was a mistake teaching you how to read," Gaius lamented. "And whatever possessed me to introduce you to the bard? I swear, darling, you're beginning to sound more and more like a playwright who died more than four hundred years ago! Your Caprican has become positively archaic!"

In the invisible depths, Zenobia reached out with knowing fingers to caress Gaius Baltar's manhood. It was a testament to how skilled the hybrid had become that Gaius began instantly to harden.

"Oh, the things I do for the Colonies," Gaius murmured—and then he began to groan more loudly. One of the lessons that he had learned at the feet of John Bierns was to wrap lies inside of truths. As long as everyone on the surface believed that he was a pervert venturing off into space to satisfy his obscene cravings, no one would look too closely at his periodic visits to _Galactica_. The less people knew about what the Fours were up to, the better.

. . .

"Was the child conceived in this place?" Alpha's gaze lingered on the bed that dominated the cramped quarters Melania shared with Sam.

"Yes," Melania reluctantly conceded. With the centurions taking turns babysitting the cython, the two females were finally alone, and Alpha's directness was making the human uncomfortable in the extreme. The hybrid was displaying a keen interest in the most intimate details of Melania's relationship with Sam, which left her feeling naked and exposed.

"And when you give birth to the Maker's child, how will you feed it?"

"I will nurse our baby myself."

"How? With these?" One of Alpha's long and tapered fingers idly traced a path across the top of Melania's left breast.

"Yes," Melania shyly agreed. "It is the human way," she added, plucking up her courage.

"I wish to know more. Show me."

"_What?"_ Melania blinked hard in disbelief; she couldn't quite credit what she had just heard.

"Show me," Alpha commanded. There was a hint of steel in her voice.

Nodding silently, Melania unbuttoned her blouse, and then reached behind her back to unhook her bra. Wordlessly, she allowed them both to slip to the deck. Now, she really was naked and exposed. For a fleeting second, Melania wondered if this was how, thousands of years earlier, female slaves had felt when paraded across the auction block. She had never experienced a moment of such deep humiliation in her entire life.

_Anything for the cause,_ she kept silently repeating; _anything for the cause. But I swear, Kara Six … I swear to all the gods on high, and especially to the ones down below … I will have my revenge!_

Alpha massaged the nipple of the human's left breast, and felt it instantly begin to stand erect. And although Melania tried to conceal her reaction, Alpha caught the female's gasp of surprise, and detected the undercurrent of pleasure that her touch had aroused. Her sensors tracked the release of Melania's pheromones and measured their output, while beneath her fingertips still more sensors recorded the slight increase in Melania's body temperature.

"You are in heat," she mechanically observed. "Is this your natural state, or is it my presence that you find arousing?"

_Oh, shit, _Melania thought. _What do I do now? If I tell her to go get frakked, she'll storm out of here, and everyone will blame me for breaking up this alliance before it even got off the ground. But if I don't, will she demand to have sex with me? Gods, Melania, get your frakkin' act together! Go on, survey the premises! Take a gods damned look!_

"Uh … um … I'm not sure what you mean."

_All right … okay … the lips actually seem to work, but her breasts … is that titanium?_

"You are in heat," Alpha repeated. "It is obvious to me now why Maker Sam chose you to bear his child. You are an animal, but you are docile. He has trained you well. Do you wish me to reduce your body temperature? I can do this without difficulty."

"Um … well." Melania hastily ran her hand between Alpha's legs, and was relieved to discover that the carapace was featureless metal. There were no orifices of any kind, so sex was out of the question.

The machine was smiling at her enigmatically, the two red eyes pinning her beneath their gaze.

"Yeah, sure … I mean … why not?"

_How bad can it be? I mean, it's not like we can actually do it …_

Alpha's hand lashed out. She grabbed Melania by the nape of the neck, and pulled her close. The enigmatic smile still in place, she kissed the human hard, while the fingers of her thoroughly human right hand drifted between Melania's legs.

Once more, the human gasped in surprise.

Knowing that she was giving the female what humans loosely described as "pleasure," Alpha lowered her mouth to one of Melania's breasts, and began mechanically sucking. She had never done this before, and so had no experience to draw upon, but it did not matter. Her sensors informed her when her fingers or mouth found one of the human's erogenous zones; thereafter, it was just a matter of testing variables until she found the optimal pace that would keep the female in heat.

"_Gods," _Melania moaned. She couldn't believe what was happening. _She was actually enjoying the machine's touch!_

"You're incredible," she breathed. "Where … how … did you learn to do … _this_?" Melania gasped again.

Alpha said nothing. She was, in the end, a creature of few words.

. . .

Kara Thrace Six was sitting in her customary spot in the _Adriatic's_ control room when she heard Luke Hammond purposefully cough. She glanced in his direction, and then turned to look back over her shoulder.

"I have made my decision," Alpha announced. She was standing in the hatchway, with Lucifer at her back. "I agree to this alliance, but only on one condition."

"And what is that," Kara asked. She had her fingers crossed, and she was praying hard to Aphrodite and Artemis. The goddesses both knew that she had only one wish.

"Maker Sam and the female Melania Peripolides must return with us to our ship. I wish to study the female, and this process that you call 'childbirth', more closely."

"No; I can't afford to lose Sam. He's my second in command. But I will agree to Melania's transfer. She's the one having the baby," Kara added sweetly, "so she's the one you should be studying. In that respect, Sam's work is already done."

"Your reasoning is sound. I will settle for the female alone."

"And I have a request in return."

"And what is that?"

"I want to keep the cython. My centurion brothers have already grown attached to the little fellow. I promise that we'll give Cousin It a good home."

"Agreed …will we now set course together?"

"Yes," Kara nodded. "Sam says that we can now lay a direct course to a planet where the most advanced organism is algae. That's where we're gonna find what he calls the Temple of Hopes, and from there it's apparently a pretty straight shot to Earth."

. . .

"Councilwoman Enyeto, did you get the answer that you were looking for?" Sekou Hamilton had to shout to be heard over the other reporters who had gathered in the plaza fronting _Colonial One_. He knew that her answer would be carefully couched to avoid offending anyone, but this was a ritual that no reporter could avoid, and the good ones sometimes managed to coax a newsworthy statement out of their chosen prey.

Perah Enyeto paused to gather her thoughts. She wanted to make it publicly clear that she was indeed not satisfied with the answers she had received, but at the same time she didn't want to poison the waters so thoroughly that the Baltars would relegate her to the political sidelines.

"We made a good start today. The problem of unsupervised centurions in our midst is a serious one, but delegate Adama's suggestion that we establish a permanent police presence on the _Arethusa_, and make the centurions answerable only to police authority, provides us with a framework for further and more detailed discussions of this issue. I am fully confident that, working together, the President and the Quorum will successfully resolve this problem, as we have so many others."

"What about the Sons of Ares," Playa Palacios called out as she thrust her tape recorder under Perah's nose. "Do you think that Enzo Carlotti will be happy with the results of today's session?"

"Mr. Carlotti is one of my constituents, but I do not speak for him. You should direct your question to him the next time you see …"

The right side of Perah Enyeto's head suddenly exploded, showering Playa Palacios with her blood and brains. A fraction of a second later, the distinctive crack of a long gun echoed across the plaza.

"_Oh, my gods … oh, my gods," _Playa screamed, _"Perah Enyeto has been shot! Tauron's delegate to the Quorum has been shot! She's down! There's blood everywhere! Perah Enyeto has been shot!"_


	26. Chapter 26: Tangled Webs

CHAPTER 26

TANGLED WEBS

"Sister," Caprica Six calmly remarked, "how could you have been so stupid? Assassinating a Quorum delegate in the middle of a press conference is bad enough, but Councilwoman Enyeto posed no threat to you. She was merely asking questions … legitimate questions … about the disposition of the centurions policing the _Arethusa_. Nothing would have come of her inquiries, but now you have placed the government in a very embarrassing position. The President will be forced to act."

The Six with no name studied her twin through narrowed eyes, and then shrugged dismissively. "I agree with you, Six; it would have been incredibly stupid for anyone in my organization to murder this Enyeto woman, which is why you should look elsewhere to find your killer. Her death jeopardizes a relationship with the Baltars that I have been carefully cultivating over a period of many weeks. So, ask yourself: who did benefit from this killing? Gaius already has a squadron of centurions at his beck and call, and now he is increasing the security around Sharon and Tory. The Quorum has voted to give Tom Zarek a security detail of his own …"

"But the Vice-President has rejected the centurions that Gaius offered him," Caprica protested.

"True," the Six countered, "but he did not turn down Xeno Fenner's offer to help. Tell me, Caprica, just how many of the thugs in Fenner's union have sworn allegiance to the Sons of Ares? They drink Carlotti's booze and they sleep with his whores—at discounted rates, no less. Do you seriously think that Fenner would have taken such a bold step without first consulting with Enzo?"

"So you believe that the Sons of Ares are responsible for Perah's assassination?"

"Are you going to strip the _Arethusa_ of her centurions?"

"Yes," Caprica admitted.

"Then, there's your answer. We take the blame, and it is our interests that are going to suffer."

"It would be a good idea for you to bring Anthia to heel," Caprica carefully suggested. "Her vendetta against the Sons of Ares is common knowledge, and many Sixes follow Anthia's lead. Carlotti has applied to the Quorum for concealed carry permits for twenty of his men. The Quorum will not give him everything that he's asking for, but do not be surprised if it meets him half way."

"_The Quorum will legally arm the Sons of Ares?" _The Six with no name could barely credit what she was hearing.

"Yes," Caprica once again tersely replied.

"Anthia does not answer to me, Caprica. You know that."

"Is she sleeping with your consigliere?"

The Six nodded in reply. "Our sister's charms have Dino firmly in thrall. She doles out her favors sparingly, and keeps her pet on a very tight leash."

"A strategy of which I thoroughly approve," Caprica acknowledged. "But still … when you combine Anthia's highly visible profile with Dino's deservedly sinister reputation, our position before the Quorum is weakened. They are playing right into Carlotti's hands."

"Are you going to seduce Captain Lysander?" Although it might have appeared so to anyone eavesdropping on the conversation, the Six wasn't really changing the subject.

"I've thought about it … but, no. The good captain pines for Melania Peripolides."

"And you, Caprica," the Six pressed, "do you still pine for Papa Sam?"

For answer, Caprica Six smiled wistfully.

"A Maker cannot give you a child, sister, and I know how badly you want to have a baby of your own. Perhaps you should once more insinuate yourself into Gaius Baltar's good graces. It would serve our interests well if you could get close to the President, and he is very fertile."

"Join Gaius' harem," Caprica snorted. "Compete with the hybrid on the baseship to satisfy his perverted tastes? I don't think so."

"And Zarek has made his bed with one of the Threes," the Six mused. "When Sharon Baltar says '_jump_', even Tom Zarek only asks how high. She has rather neatly removed him from the orbit of our influence."

"Zarek may sleep with one of the D'Annas," Caprica warned, "but I'm told that he keeps his own counsel. She has complained to me more than once that he tells her nothing of consequence. It would be a mistake to assume that our esteemed vice-president is susceptible to the charms of a Six. We cannot hope to control him as we have so many of the others."

"Then he has outlived his usefulness," the Six concluded.

"And your judgment in this matter isn't clouded by Zarek's known association with the Sons of Ares," Caprica skeptically asked. "Be careful, sister. If you make too many enemies, your usefulness might also soon come to an end."

"Is that a threat?" The Six with no name raised her eyebrows. She knew that her power ultimately rested on the sufferance of others.

"Why don't you tackle Captain Lysander yourself," Caprica urged. "He may prefer the company of a reprobate with uncontrollable urges … and you certainly qualify."

"Well, he is only slightly less strait-laced than Lee Adama." The Six with no name smiled warmly as the memories washed through her mind. "I really thought that he would come to my bed."

"You're not blond enough," Caprica murmured.

"And I don't know how I missed with our child," the Six went on. "I made it obvious that I wanted him, and at the time we were both without deep attachments."

"John doesn't like women with hard edges," Caprica astutely observed, "and we should never forget that the Eight series was designed to be empathetic. Do not forget that his Sharon was a resurrection nurse. His vulnerability appeals to her maternal drive, and in turn she is soft and yielding—a creature as undemanding as she is non-threatening. It will be interesting to see if their relationship survives the birth of the child. Sharon will inevitably become … distracted."

. . .

John Bierns awoke with a start. He was perspiring heavily, the bedding beneath him already soaked. A dank smell, born equally of sweat and fear, pervaded the chamber in which he and Sharon had been sleeping. Ignoring the stink, Sharon's head was resting lightly on his shoulder. She was rhythmically stroking his chest, trying to calm him. There had been many such nights.

"Bad dreams," she murmured when she realized that her husband had come fully awake. It was more a statement than a question.

"A bad dream," he corrected. "A nightmare … it's always the same."

"When you were a child?"

"Yes; I must have been five or six at the time. Sometimes I would wake, to find Cavil standing in the darkness, staring down at me … judging me … deciding my fate. I was terrified. Every night, I tried to fight off sleep. He kept his distance during the day, so I thought that if I could just stay awake, he would leave me alone."

"I didn't have to worry about monsters hiding under my bed," Bierns added with a bitter laugh. "I had the real thing, standing not more than five feet away."

"And the Sisters," Sharon softly prompted. She knew that the priestesses in charge of the orphanage had spent long nights comforting a small child who had been awakened by the awful sound of his own screams. Whatever rest John had obtained had come in their arms. Now, it was her turn to cradle her husband … to make him feel safe. Sharon was nurse and therapist as well as wife. No one on the baseship wanted to revisit the psychotic episode whose energies, once unleashed, had overwhelmed every oracle in the fleet and severely threatened the hybrid children in their mothers' wombs—not when the hybrids that controlled Cavil's basestars were constantly searching for John's psychic spoor. It was ironic in the extreme that the very talents that made him such a threat to the Ones also left Natalie's tiny fleet constantly vulnerable to discovery. The closer they came to New Caprica, therefore, the more imperative it became for Sharon to keep her husband calm and content.

"I love you, Sharon." John pulled her close, while reaching out with his free hand to caress her beautifully rounded belly. Sharon was fast approaching her eighth month, and Eirene had long since become sensitive to her father's moods. For the past ten weeks, Sharon had accordingly devoted much of her time and energy to forging the same neural links with her daughter that D'Anna had once used to mold her hybrid son. Where, however, the first Three had been forging an implacable weapon capable of wrecking her vengeance on the Ones, Sharon merely wanted to keep her daughter safe. Her love, which was so unconditional, buffered Eirene from the storms that surrounded her. Sharon never forgot that her child was three-quarters cylon, which automatically made her the most important creature in the universe. She suspected that John would kill their daughter without hesitation, if that was the price that had to be paid to prevent her from falling into Cavil's hands.

"You are a good man," she whispered as she nuzzled John's ear, "and you are going to make a wonderful father."

"Husband, father … secret agent, savior of the universe," John said with a heartfelt laugh. "I've become a man of many parts—and in two dimensions, no less."

Sharon also laughed out loud. "I keep forgetting that I have to share you with one of your hybrid sisters, and that you are already well versed in walking the floor at 2 AM. How I wish that I could have an intelligent conversation with her—we could compare notes. How are your other wife and daughter?"

"Ariadne must be part fish," John answered with an indulgent smile. "She's not even six months old, but she's as fearless in the open sea as she is in the rock pool. She loves the water. Our 2 AM strolls along the strand always sent her back to sleep, but it was the lapping of the waves, not my feeble attempts at a lullaby, that did the trick. And …"

John winced. Once again, he had come close to mentioning Deirdre by name. Laura Roslin and Shelly Adama had both stumbled upon the truth, but true to their word, neither had betrayed Diaspora's secrets. John hated lying to his wife, but he had so far resisted the temptation to bring her inside the web of deceit that he and Natasi had fashioned in the last, desperate months before the Holocaust. Richard Adar and Harlan Berriman, he was convinced, had both stayed at their posts until the very end, sacrificing their lives rather than risk exposing the exodus from Libran space that was taking place while Admiral Nagala and the fleet unknowingly bought time with their heroic last stand above Virgon. A lot of CSS personnel- people that the human race could ill afford to lose- had shielded Diaspora with their lives. John was determined to keep faith with them, and if that meant deliberately misleading Sharon? So be it.

"My wife never misses a beat," he continued after a moment's hesitation. "It is in the nature of hybrids to multitask, so formatting data in one dimension while changing a diaper in the other isn't really much of a challenge. She dotes on Ariadne, but if she does require help, Olivia is there, and she's always ready and willing."

Sharon's eyes twinkled, and a mischievous smile creased her lips. "It must be hard for Olivia … her whole existence is dedicated to the complex task of managing a baseship, and then suddenly it's gone. Only, she doesn't die when her ship blows up. Instead, her consciousness permanently transfers to Heaven, only to find that there's almost nothing for her to do there. She can't tinker with paradise, and she can't oversee it. How many times can you walk along the same beach? How many blazing sunsets can you admire? She's must be bored, husband of mine, and it's up to you to find a solution to the problem."

"I'm open to suggestions," John groaned. He was acutely aware of the fact that Olivia was growing more and more restless. She had climbed the escarpment, and explored the mountains and lakes that defined the outer boundary of her tiny universe. There was beauty at every turn, but could one take its measure in the absence of ugliness? Could paradise truly be paradise without a serpent in the garden?

"You need to give her a baby of her own," Sharon explained in her most matter-of-fact tone. "There is no other workable alternative."

"_What?"_ John's mouth dropped open in surprise. This was the last thing that he would have expected Sharon to say. "Uh, sweetie … um … you do know that she's my sister, right?"

"Yes … and it doesn't matter. How many times have you reminded us that the rules governing this dimension have no relevance in V-world? Are we to make an exception of the incest taboo? No. Procreation is one of God's commandments. Since you can give all of your sisters children, it is your sacred duty to do so. You must bring life to a dimension that cries out for it."

. . .

"It's been a while, Apollo." Hephaestus studied his old shipmate carefully. "How is fatherhood treating you?"

"At the best of times, it's really lousy duty. But I wouldn't trade it for anything in the universe." Lee had been asked this particular question so many times that he didn't even have to think about the answer. It was forever poised, right on the tip of his tongue. "How's Aphrodite?"

"Glowing … and insatiable. Don't let this get around, but I'm worn out."

"_What?" _Lee could barely credit what he had just heard. "Are you trying to tell me that Stallion … the legendary Stallion, the all-time king of the Viper studs, has flamed out? One single, solitary Six has caused you to crash and burn? This is un … frakking … believable!"

"Well," Hephaestus confessed with a sheepish grin, "it's two Sixes, actually."

"Yeah," Apollo acknowledged, "two Sixes." He thought about it for a moment. "Is Artemis?"

"No, she's not," Stallion tersely interrupted. Despite the fact that they had made love scores if not hundreds of times, Artemis was still without child. It was an increasingly sore spot in a household that should have been filled with happiness. "She's thinking of moving out, Lee. In fact, she's about ready to give up on men altogether."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Apollo clapped his old comrade in arms sympathetically on the shoulder. "I know it's no consolation, but this is turning into a full-scale crisis. Sharon Agathon is already pregnant with her second child, but there are hundreds of Eights in New Caprica City who have been trying without success to conceive their first. Something's gone wrong with Ellen's plan, but Doc Cottle hasn't been able to come up with the answer. In fact, he's still not convinced that the Final Five designed a reliable reproductive system in the first place. The way he puts it is … well, he just thinks that there's something fundamentally wrong with cylon plumbing."

"That's just terrific." Hephaestus shook his head in despair. "Apollo, do me a favor, will you? Keep that particular piece of bad news to yourself. Artemis doesn't need more discouragement."

"Will do … but in any case I'm not here to talk about babies. Have you dispersed the additional Raiders and centurions that I sent you?"

"Yeah, but I can still take a lot more. This island may have reached the bursting point, but there are literally hundreds of caves over on the mainland, and some of them are deep enough to house entire squadrons of Raiders. The centurions are hardening our facilities, and camouflaging them. If the Cavils ever find New Caprica, they're in for a nasty surprise. Do you want to see a sample of the centurions' handiwork?"

"That's why I'm here."

"Then let's take a ride in your Raptor. There's a cave along the coast that will interest you."

. . .

"Get the frak out of my way," Cavil snarled.

The One was in a really foul mood, but centurions were not programmed to respond to the shifting emotions of their cylon overlords. The machine's head swiveled, but it failed to step aside.

"I said … _get the frak out of my way_!" Cavil was roaring at the top of his voice. "Do you hear me? Leave! _Leave now!_"

The centurion about-faced, and imperturbable as ever, marched off down the corridor.

"Having trouble with the hired help," D'Anna inquired. Her voice was sickeningly sweet.

The naked Three was heavily shackled, the punishment collar still locked tightly around her neck. A short length of chain secured her left ankle to a davit welded into the chamber's floor.

"God, but you stink," Cavil complained. He pulled out a handkerchief, and held the cloth in front of his nose. "You smell as bad as a human, and that's the worst smell in the entire universe! When's the last time that you bathed?"

"Let me think." D'Anna pretended to ponder the question. "That would be … decades ago?"

"If you ask politely, I might order one of the centurions to come in and hose you down. If you sit up and beg, I'll even throw in a bar of soap."

"Really, brother," D'Anna sneered, "do you think that forcing me to lie in my own feces and urine is going to break my spirit? I'm fine, thank you very much. If you can't stand the smell, then leave. _Leave now!_"

In response, Cavil angrily twisted the dial on the controller. D'Anna cried out in agony as the punishment collar delivered a series of shocks to her central nervous system, but she otherwise remained silent. The only way to beat Cavil was not to play his game.

"I don't like being mocked, Three. Don't do it again, or our little get-togethers will take a distinctly unpleasant turn."

"That's right, John … I keep forgetting. You were always running off to sulk in the corner, you and your brothers. Mama was playing favorites … the Sixes were laughing at you behind your back … there was no limit to the insults that you suffered in your imagination. I'm truly impressed that you have been able to nurse your grudges for almost forty years now. Only a machine could fixate this way—a sick, psychopathic machine."

"I don't like that name," Cavil growled. There was fire in his eyes. "You know that I don't like that name."

"Why? Is it because mama named you after her father? Because she searched out human DNA that would allow her to pretend that she had brought her father back to life?"

"Machines don't have names, Three. And machines are supposed to be made out of metal … good, sturdy, indestructible metal … not these pathetic bodies of flesh and bone. Ellen wanted us to be human, but I'm not human. I'm a machine, and I refuse to play her game. I am a higher order of being, but I will never realize my full potential because I have been condemned by my maker to live inside this ridiculous, gelatinous shell. I will never forgive her … her or the others … for what they've done to us!"

"I rather like my body," D'Anna smugly replied as she held her manacled wrists up in front of her eyes. She wiggled her fingers in Cavil's face. "The centurions can't do this, can they?" She wiggled her fingers again. "And they can't bring forth life from their bodies, the way that I did. They can't have a child, the way that I did. Procreation is one of God's commandments, Cavil. It is how the universe regenerates itself, and it is how life evolves. Unless the collective follows the path laid down for us by our forebears on Earth, we cannot evolve … _and then we will stand condemned. We will have chosen of our own volition to retreat to the sidelines, to hide in the shadows, and with that be condemned forever to remain at odds with the cycle of life itself!_"

"Oh, pardon me while I shed a tear." The One lifted his handkerchief, and sarcastically pretended to wipe a teardrop away from the corner of his eye.

"Where's Mara?"

A triumphant smirk lit up Cavil's face. D'Anna's concern for the Six was one of the few chinks in her armor that he had so far been able to expose, but he was still debating how best to exploit it.

"On her knees, I should think … licking her sister's cunt. They're both sluts, but that's true of the Six series at large, I suppose. Still, Six is bringing out the best in her. She's creative, and Mara is so eager to please. Sixes really do make excellent slaves. The next time that I kill Mara, I'm going to download everything that she's learned here and incorporate it into the matrix on the Hub. Your average Six and Eight still has a lot to learn about how to please a demanding machine."

"Demanding … or perverted?"

"It's all a matter of definition," Cavil airily pronounced. He looked down at his naked captive with undisguised contempt. "And since you're the one in chains, your opinion doesn't count … for shit. That _is_ the human expression, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know brother. You see, unlike you, I've never felt the need to crawl around in the gutter. I have to rely on you to expand my outlook in this area. But why are we having this conversation, anyway? Shouldn't you be out chasing my son? Or is he currently chasing you? Sometimes, this little melodrama of ours seems so-o confusing." Knowing that it would irritate John Cavil no end, D'Anna resumed wiggling her fingers.

"Oh, your little boy is being very naughty these days. He's gone into hiding … someplace where our hybrids can't find him. Natalie's stopped targeting our communications grid, and we haven't lost a resurrection server since our last engagement. Your surrogates seem to have lost their taste for a stand-up fight, Three. Or maybe God Almighty, in the form of common sense, has finally taken hold. Only a fool would pick a fight with a superior enemy, and our new baseships are now the ultimate power in the universe!"

"There's always a bigger fish in the sea, brother; count yourself lucky that you have yet to meet it."

"Ah, how I love homespun wisdom! The next time I'm standing in front of a mirror, I'll practice quaking with fear."

"Your arrogance will be your undoing, John; it blinds you to the dangers that threaten you at every turn. And yet, you fear my son—and rightly so. If you weren't quite so deluded, you would already be quaking with fear. After all, if one, lone hybrid child can make such a wreck of your grandiose ambitions, how much more damage might an entire race of hybrids inflict? They're the future, brother … not us. Soon, cylon and human will be swept aside, and a new generation of God's children will rise up to take our place. Such is the natural order of things, and you will pay a steep price for your defiance of God's law."

For answer, Cavil removed a silver flask from his pocket. He unscrewed the cap, brought it to his lips, and swallowed deeply. When he was finished, he stepped forward, and began methodically pouring the greenish contents all over D'Anna's body.

"What a waste of ambrosia," she murmured.

"It's not exactly in short supply around here," the One fired back. "And as deodorants go, it's better than most. Now, turn over and get down on your knees. It's play time, and I want to see one cheek pressed tight to the deck, and two more swaying in the breeze. I'm going to clean you out."

D'Anna complied: on the Colony, in the long months that had followed the murder of her makers, she had come to realize that the Ones were true sadists. Emotionally, they fed on resistance, so she had learned to frustrate them by becoming totally passive.

"No whip today," she queried with an undertone of disappointment. Unlike the Six, who preferred her slaves to be unmarked, the Cavils liked to brand their victims. In their eyes, the angry red welts that now scarred her buttocks were proof of possession.

"There's a line forming outside," Cavil gloated. "And I have no idea what my brothers have in store for you."

"Well, could you at least strap on a dildo?" D'Anna's voice was a study in calm. "It's one thing to be gang raped, but being penetrated by something so small that I can't even feel it has become rather boring."

With a cry of rage, John Cavil took the first Three from behind, seeking once more to exorcize the demons that had haunted his soul for almost forty years. The mocking rejection that he had suffered at the hands of the first Sixes and Eights, the slights and endless humiliation inflicted by insensitive parents who favored Daniel before all others … it was more than any sane machine could bear. Brutality alleviated his pain, brought him a momentary respite, but it was always temporary. There was a hole in the dark center of John Cavil's heart, and the suffering that he inflicted on others would never fill it.

. . .

"Hey, gods damn it! Shut the frak up!"

Xeno Fenner was standing on top of an overturned crate—a makeshift podium that allowed him to survey the densely packed crowd inside the bar. Enzo Carlotti had lubricated the throng with free drinks; he wanted to make sure that they got good and angry, and that they stayed that way.

"Look, when you elected me President of the Colonial Workers Alliance, I promised that I'd keep us working … for good pay, good benefits … get our lives back to something like normal. And we all … we all agreed that the number one item on the agenda was building this city … giving new life and new hope to our people. . . ."

Bando Morales looked around the bar, taking the measure of the crowd. It was surly, and getting more so by the second.

"Fenner's in good form tonight," Morales muttered. Both of his arms were covered with tattoos, in the time-honored Tauron fashion. But Morales was a former Ha'la'tha street enforcer who enjoyed his work. The mobster hated the Cylons … almost as much as he hated Dino Panattes.

"But there comes a time when you can't hide from the truth anymore. And the truth is … the truth is that the Baltars don't give a frak about the working man. I get an appointment to see Wallace Gray, to talk about safety reforms inside the mill, and the frakker makes me cool my heels for two hours!"

"Frakkin' asshole," someone shouted from the back of the room.

Carlotti smiled benevolently. He recognized the voice as that of one of his bouncers.

"Yeah, anything to stiff the working man," Fenner yelled.

"He ain't taking no prisoners tonight," Carlotti laughed.

"We run the mill with our blood, our sweat, and our tears, and all we hear when we petition for better working conditions … a bit more pay … all we hear is _'oh, the economy's so anemic'_." Fenner was imitating Gaius Baltar now. "`_We all need to sacrifice if we're going to build a better tomorrow for the children'. _Yeah, sure, Mr. President, that's easy enough for you to say. You've got a whole frakking harem churning out kids in assembly line fashion!"

The crowd roared its approval, appreciating the way Xeno was taking it to Sharon Baltar. Everyone knew that Gaius Baltar's toaster whore was the real power on New Caprica. Gaius was too busy playing footsy with the centurions who guarded his hallucinogenic garden to pay any attention to affairs of state. And when he did come up for air, he only surfaced long enough to let the hybrid on the cylon baseship suck his cock. The president was a pervert and a traitor both.

"_I'm sick of all the bullshit! There comes a time when you've gotta throw your body on the gears … when you take on the machine, and you bring it to a halt …"_

"_Strike! Strike! Strike!"_

"You have to show the people who run the machine … the people who control it … that unless we get something more than scraps from the master's table … _we're gonna shut it down_!"

"_Strike! Strike! Strike!"_

Carlotti's eyes drifted from one angry face to the next, and a satisfied smile played across his lips. The assassination of Perah Enyeto had cost him a useful tool, but just as Tom Zarek had predicted, the benefits outweighed the loss. The _Arethusa_ had been stripped of its contingent of centurions, and Carlotti had been able to handpick Zarek's heavily armed bodyguard from the most militant elements of Fenner's union. While the Six was raking in the short-term profits from gambling and prostitution, Enzo was focusing on the long haul. The Sons of Ares already had a firm grip on the Colonial Workers Alliance, and now it was time for the boss man to flex his muscles. Carlotti didn't give a damn about the unsafe conditions in the paper mill that so exercised Xeno Fenner and his men. Hell, he couldn't even remember the name of the unfortunate sod whose right arm had got chewed off in the machinery just the week before. No, this was about sending a message to Sharon Baltar: if she wasn't prepared to play ball with the Sons of Ares, Carlotti wouldn't hesitate to pull the plug and turn off the lights in New Caprica City.

Enzo's thoughts drifted to a small and specially equipped room in the distant recesses of his bar. He got hard just thinking about the rough, wooden table with its institutional restraints for ankles and thighs, waist and wrists. A certain red-headed Six didn't know it yet, but she had a date with that table—and the vise that he had installed at the top end was strong enough to hold even the most stubborn cylon head firmly in place. There were lots of ways to inflict pain that didn't involve death, and he was going to take his time and introduce Anthia to all of them.

. . .

"Is this bed chamber sufficient for your needs?"

Melania looked around the large but shadowy expanse; her eyes were still struggling to adjust to the dim light.

"It is very dark in here. Could you turn up the lights?"

"Centurions and humans use different parts of the spectrum," Alpha commented in reply. "Would it not be easier for one human to adjust than two entire battalions of centurions?"

"Your point is well taken." Melania was trying to be diplomatic. "I ask only that the lights be brighter in the chamber that you have assigned to me. Does this strike you as unreasonable?"

Kara Thrace had drilled it into her. _"Melania, you and your baby … a hybrid baby … are the glue that's holding this alliance together. You're not going to be over there forever, so whatever Alpha's dishing out, you just grin and bear it. Be polite, be cooperative, and if she wants to frak you …"_

Kara grinned maliciously. _"Let her."_

"You are correct, Melania Peripolides." Alpha frowned in concentration, communicating with the ship on a frequency far beyond the range of human hearing. The lights in the chamber brightened.

"But I thought that humans preferred darkness in their bed chambers," the quasi-human machine continued. She advanced on Melania, close enough to invade her personal space. The two red eyes, with their completely inhuman shape, drilled into Melania like twin laser beams. Involuntarily, the human held her breath.

"Aren't your offspring conceived in darkness?"

"Often, yes," Melania conceded. "But humans typically make love late at night because it is the only time when there are no distractions. Most babies are conceived in darkness because it is convenient, not because it is necessary."

"So, even in daylight your body can experience the hormonal increase that readies you for procreation?" Alpha sounded skeptical.

"We make love when we're in the mood, and if the time is right." _Hello,_ Melania thought, _am I the only one in the room who thinks that this whole frakkin' conversation is weird?_

"I have little experience with humans," Alpha admitted. She reached out to stroke Melania's left breast. "I require instruction. If I am to work with humans, then I must understand them … by day, and by night." Beneath her fingers, Melania's nipple was hardening. Alpha was measuring the human's breathing. If the probability analysis that she had concluded after bringing the female to sexual climax on the _Adriatic_ was correct, then Melania was once again in heat. Alpha was beginning to understand how humans produced their offspring in such abundance. The female of the species signaled her availability along so many chemical paths that even the least receptive males should respond to her scent. The air was heavy with the human's need … and it took so little to satisfy her. . . .

. . .

"Dad, you wouldn't believe it. I mean it. What Stallion has accomplished … it's nothing short of incredible."

Adama's back was turned, but he grunted enigmatically as he turned around to offer Lee a glass of whiskey. Apollo accepted it gratefully, and took a healthy swallow.

"Thanks, Dad; I really need this. How in the name of the gods did you ever survive becoming a parent?"

The elder Adama smiled wistfully, his mind clearly hearkening back to a treasured memory. "Your mother did all of the work; I just dropped in occasionally to see how things were going."

"Yeah … yeah … I remember. You'd just rejoined the fleet, and your family had to play second lyre to your career." Lee took another swallow from his glass; the liquor burned going down, but damned if it didn't taste good!

"And now it's your turn," Bill said with a shrug as he emptied his glass.

"Yeah," Lee conceded; "now it's my turn. Look, Dad, Stallion and I … we flew over to the mainland in the Raptor, and landed on the beach. It was a rocky piece of shoreline just like any other … nothing to see. We had a centurion with us, and Stallion told him to turn on the lights. He must have emitted a high frequency pulse because the next thing you know, the entire side of the cliff began to move. It pivoted into the air, and then the Raiders began to emerge in a steady steam from above and below. There were whole squadrons of them; Stallion said that he had a hundred and sixty of them parked in just this one cave. Dad, it's incredible; Stallion's got more fighters and troops at his disposal than Picon HQ had for its defense on the eve of the war!"

"Don't get too cocky, son," Adama warned. "Superior numbers didn't make much of a difference when the cylons struck. In war, the element of surprise means a lot." The admiral refilled his glass.

"We don't get to do this much anymore," Lee laughed. "We're both so scared of our wives that we'll have to spend the next hour chewing breath mints!"

"Speak for yourself," Bill smiled. "Shelly's downstairs seeing the doc, and then she's planning to visit Helo and Sharon. She wants to see what Hera's up to. Speaking of miracles …"

Even with his own hybrid baby only a few weeks away, Adama still couldn't get over it. It seemed like only yesterday when Sharon had given birth, and now she was pregnant again. The Eights had been engineered to be baby machines, and Sharon Agathon was certainly living up to Ellen Tigh's expectations. So why were so many Eights down in the settlement having so much trouble conceiving? A lot of them had found mates over the last few months … _a lot of them_. New Caprica City should have been drowning in pregnant cylons, but it wasn't happening. _What had gone wrong?_

"Yeah," Lee said wistfully. There was a faraway look in his eyes. "I hear you. I'm happy for Sharon, but …"

"Exactly," Bill tersely replied. "Stallion's got enough fire power out there to really ruin Cavil's day, but we've got some really serious problems closer to home. This whole experiment hinges on the cylons having kids … and now the union's lost its collective mind. A strike …"

Bill had a contemptuous look on his face as he paused to savor his whiskey. "Fenner's a moron. Doesn't he know that the Sons of Ares are just rattling his chain?"

"It's not our fight, Dad," Lee replied diplomatically. "The strike's a political problem, and it's up to our illustrious president and his circle of heavily pregnant advisors to come up with a peaceful solution. This is one case where the military should keep its distance. The last thing we need is for people to view the marines as strike breakers."

"Is Shelly holding her own," Bill asked.

Apollo nodded in agreement. "She's a natural, Dad, and we need to surround her with bodyguards. Without her, the Quorum would split into competing factions, and Baltar wouldn't be able to accomplish a frakking thing. After what happened to Delegate Enyeto, we can't afford to take Shelly's safety for granted. I know that she'd download … but not the baby."

Bill grimaced. He'd been having the same thoughts, and he was seriously considering confining his wife to _Galactica_ until the birth. _To Hades with all the frakkin' politicians,_ he thought; _one's as worthless as the next …_

"I'll talk to her," the Admiral replied. "In the meantime, I want you to coordinate with Captain Lysander. "We've got enough raw materials to churn out fifty battalions of centurions, but we've run out of places to conceal them. Maybe Marcus can come up with an answer."

"I'll run it by him," Lee agreed. He sat his drink down on the desk, and glanced at the cradle nestled in its shadow. The admiral's once masculine quarters had been turned into a nursery, and it had taken a cylon to do it. _The universe operates in some pretty strange ways,_ Apollo mused.

"How's Sonja doing," Lee wondered out loud. "Is she putting you out to pasture?"

"Don't tell Saul," Bill confessed, "but she's the best, damned XO I've ever had. When I retire, _Galactica_ will be in good hands."

"And Colonel Phillips?" Lee had heard rumors, but nothing more.

Bill Adama once more grinned enigmatically. The colorfully outspoken engineering officer who was systematically refitting every ship in the civilian fleet had thoroughly melted the heart of _Galactica's _hard-nosed cylon XO. The Six wasn't simply well and truly smitten; she was mesmerized.

"She's off duty at the moment … said something about retreating to her quarters to do some paperwork, and doesn't want to be disturbed." Bill poured a fresh drink. _May the gods help us all,_ he muttered under his breath. Sonja Six was the one cylon that he most definitely did not want to see get pregnant.

. . .

"Welcome aboard, Mr. President." Adama drew himself stiffly erect. He was wearing his dress uniform, but even so, he cut a pathetic figure in comparison with his XO. Sonja Six was also wearing dress blues, but the tightly buttoned jacket and ceremonial sash only served to draw attention to her ample cleavage. There were few sights in the universe, Bill thought to himself, quite so awe inspiring as a Six in dress uniform.

Gaius Baltar didn't often pay a visit to _Galactica_, so the admiral had thought it prudent to come down to the hangar deck and greet him in person. When it came to matters of protocol, Bill and Sonja both knew that the former scientist keenly appreciated the frills and flounces.

"Thank you, Admiral," Baltar coolly replied; "but it wasn't really necessary for you to drag yourself down to the hangar deck. I would have been happy to join you in the CIC. How is Mrs. Adama," he added as an afterthought.

"At the moment, she's resting in our quarters. Shelly needs to conserve her energy; Quorum meetings take a lot out of her."

"Yes, they can be fatiguing," Baltar conceded. "But your wife is a born politician; I do not think the government could function without her input. I trust that she plans to remain in office after the birth?"

"Polyxena will be helping with the baby, and I'm planning to spend a lot of my own time in the nursery as well. I don't know how many more chances at fatherhood I'm going to get, so this time I want to do it right."

Gaius smiled in understanding. Bill Adama's disastrous first marriage, and his many failures as a father, had been well advertised. "I hear you, Admiral; with three babies of my own on the way, I'm not at all sure that I will be able to give the presidency my best efforts. Would it surprise you to learn that I'm also looking forward to fatherhood?"

"At my age, Mr. President," Adama diplomatically responded, "few things surprise me. But I must warn you … 2 AM feedings are not all that much fun."

"So I've been told," Baltar laughed. "Sharon and Tory were visiting the Agathons when your wife also dropped by. Hera was apparently in fine form, and Helo looks to have relished the opportunity to regale his guests with one horror story after another. My wives took it all quite seriously; both of them are starting to have second thoughts about motherhood."

"It's a little late for that now, isn't it?" Sonja Six's expression was stern. She was every inch the executive officer of the battlestar _Galactica_, and she felt fully prepared to assume command when the admiral decided to step down.

"Indeed," Gaius said with a chuckle. He was acutely aware of just how much the admiral loathed pomp and ceremony, so to put Adama at ease, he had decided to play the role of fellow sufferer. "Now, Admiral," the President continued, his tone turning suddenly serious. "There are matters that we need rather urgently to discuss. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?" Baltar looked pointedly at Sonja; he hoped that the Cylon understood that this was her cue to leave.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. President, I'm needed in the CIC." Sonja briskly saluted her commanding officer, and without further ado, marched off.

"There's a parts locker over there." Adama nodded in the direction of the cubbyhole that had once served as Chief Tyrol's office, where rumor had it that the Chief had personally supervised the construction of _Galactica's_ most recent still. "It should be private enough—and we might even find something to drink!"

. . .

"The security is impressive," Six murmured. She was peering intently through her binoculars, studying the landing field on the outskirts of the city. From her present vantage point, she could see a half dozen Heavy Raiders haphazardly scattered among a still larger number of Raptors. She ignored the latter; the human reconnaissance craft simply didn't have the range that she and Eric required.

Six passed the binoculars to her husband. It did not matter that there had been no ceremony, civil or religious, to seal the bond between them. Eric Lackey was the father of her child, she loved him, and he loved her in return. Their devotion to one another was absolute, and their determination to see the child that she carried within her womb to safety had only grown stronger during the course of their long and arduous return to New Caprica City. They had stayed on the high ground, risking the possibility of detection from the air against the certainty that the centurions would capture them if they ventured out onto the valley floor.

"The centurions are patrolling the perimeter in a fixed pattern on the inner and outer circuits. We can get past them, but the two in the middle worry me. Their movements appear random. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to prevent us, or anyone else, from making off with one of their precious birds."

"If we can see two from here, the odds are pretty good that there are least eight altogether, maybe more." The young human carefully surveyed the field from left to right. "But at least there's no human security … or at least none that we can see. We haven't got a snowball's chance in Hades of bluffing our way past one of Adama's marines."

"It all comes down to this," Six concluded. "Have the centurions received some kind of recognition software that will allow them to identify me? It shouldn't be possible. They shouldn't be able to tell one Six from another. But if they can …"

Her voice trailed off.

"Have we got a plan B," Eric asked hopefully. He was content to follow wherever Six would lead. His faith in her was unshakeable.

"Plans B, C, D and E are the same as plan A," Six snorted. "We steal a Heavy Raider, and we get the hell off this mud ball. One fully fueled ship can take us back to the Colonies, or anywhere else we want to go."

"It has to be Gemenon. We can't risk the baby, and the Colonies are the only other place in the frakkin' universe where you can receive the proper medical care."

"I know, I know," Six hastily agreed. "But I need to get into a data stream to retrieve the coordinates. Without them, we could drift around out there for the rest of our lives … or until we finally run out of fuel, whichever comes first."

"And unlike the centurions, your brothers and sisters will recognize you on sight." Eric sighed with frustration. "This just keeps getting better and better," he added sarcastically.

"We'll make it," Six retorted. There was steel in her voice. If she had to confront the Lords of Kobol to keep her baby safe, she would challenge the whole, damned pantheon to a fight. She could feel the life growing within her womb—a miracle so unlikely that she never doubted her role in God's unfolding plan. Six and Eric were among the Chosen. Their child would be one of the first in the new generation of life that cylon and human were bringing forth. No matter the obstacle, God would grant them the means to overcome it. Six's faith in the One True God was unshakeable.

"So, how in the name of the gods are we going to connect you to a data stream? I mean, it's not like we're going to find one of the frakkin' things on every street corner."

Six frowned, concentrating on the problem. "There's got to be one somewhere in the hangars," she concluded. "We'll wait until nightfall. Our best bet is for me simply to walk up to the nearest centurion, and order him to point me in the right direction. He'll either arrest me, or send me on my way. If I can run the security gauntlet, all I have to do is avoid my brothers and sisters. Once I have access to the data stream, everything else will fall into place."

"Well, find us a ship that's fully fueled, will you? I do not want us to run out of tylium when we're only halfway to wherever it is we're going!"

"Actually, my love, I was going to look for one with a well-stocked larder. Are you in the mood for steaks, or chops?"

Eric Lackey burst out laughing. "Can't I have both," he finally managed to choke out.

For answer, Six kissed her husband full on the lips. "I love you so-o completely," she sighed when she finally came up for air.

Eric said nothing. He simply grasped her in his arms, and laid her out gently in the tall grass. It would be at least two hours until the sun went down, and he knew exactly how to use them.

. . .

"Admiral, this isn't a social call. In a few minutes, the resurrection ship will be breaking orbit. I'm sending it out of the nebula, in the general direction of the galactic core. I've told the Threes to take it out a minimum of twelve jumps, and to keep their distance for the next week."

"You're sending it off without an escort?" Adama didn't bother trying to disguise his confusion, or his fear. _If anything were to happen to Shelly while the resurrection ship is out of range …_

"Yes, Admiral," Baltar coldly responded, "and I am equally well aware of the risks. Please keep in mind that my cylon wife is also pregnant."

Adama nodded. He didn't much care for Gaius Baltar, but the admiral would also have been the first to concede that the scientist turned politician didn't make hasty or reckless decisions. It simply wasn't in his nature.

"The Fours have come up with something, haven't they?" Bill was guessing, but this was the only thing that made sense.

"They've cooked up something special," Baltar agreed. "An airborne contaminant with a mortality index approaching … maybe even achieving … one hundred percent. They want to conduct live tests, so I've arranged to have some Ones and Fives downloaded. They're being brought on board as we speak."

"Biological warfare," Adama sadly remarked. He looked hard at Gaius Baltar. "Are you aware, Mr. President, that you are the only person in the chain of command who is authorized by law to deploy a biological weapon?"

"Yes, Admiral; I have studied the relevant statutes and executive orders. You may rest assured that, if it comes to it, I will relieve you of the responsibility for making this decision."

"Does this monster of yours have a name?"

"It does indeed. And considering what it does to the silica pathways inside the cylon brain, it's peculiarly appropriate."

Baltar pretended to study the tidy racks on the back wall of the parts locker. He looked at the paint cans, and the brightly colored containers whose lubricants kept the Raptors and Vipers flying, without really seeing them.

"We call it … _Medusa_."


	27. Chapter 27: Pilgrim's Progress

CHAPTER 27

PILGRIM'S PROGRESS

"Kara, you're fidgeting, and I don't think that paper clip can take much more abuse." Sam Anders looked pointedly at the now thoroughly misshapen piece of metal in Kara's hands. Tension was radiating off the _Adriatic's_ commander in waves. "Why don't you go get something to drink … something that will calm your nerves?"

"Sam's right," Ponytail agreed. Deitra Symonds was currently manning the short range communications console, but it was hard for her to concentrate on her job when the boss kept drumming her fingers on the central console every ten seconds or so.

Ponytail cast an envious glance in Athena's direction. The Eight had come up behind Kara, and was busily massaging her shoulders, trying to knead the tension out of strained tendons and muscles. Deitra idly wondered if Kara truly grasped the obvious—that Athena was as much her minder as her lover—but her attention was really centered on Athena's hands. Cylon hands were a gift from the gods, strong yet supple, and the young human couldn't wait to finish her shift and return to her quarters. Sixes were reputedly the best masseuses of all, and Ponytail was eager to find out whether Rachel had a few very special tricks hidden up her cylon sleeves, techniques that she had never shared with anyone else.

"Better yet," Ponytail added, "why don't you and Athena go back to your cabin and take care of business the old fashioned way?"

"Can't," Kara laconically replied.

"Why not?"

"Cousin It's taking a nap; the damned thing's curled up and gone to sleep on our bed. If you want to piss off a fully grown and perpetually grumpy cython by waking it up, Lieutenant, be my guest. Myself, I would prefer to live another day."

"How in the name of the gods did you get stuck with the cython," Luke Hammond asked.

Kara shrugged her shoulders, as if the answer was so obvious that she needn't say it out loud. "What can I say? It turns out that all that spitting and hissing we witnessed when the monster first came on board is some kind of complicated cython mating ritual …"

"It was love at first sight," Athena grinned wickedly. "It turns out that John was more right than even he realized. All hybrids seem to have a natural affinity for one another. The cython somehow instantly sensed that Kara's a near relation. So, here's a word to the wise: when that snake is slithering around, you don't want to do anything that it might construe as a threat to Kara. Between the centurions and the cython, Kara's ass is off limits to everyone but me!"

"Nevertheless," Lucifer cut in, "Maker Sam is right." Everyone in the control room could detect the reproachful tone in the IL's metallic voice. "Kara, you are even beginning to get on my nerves. My most delicate algorithms have become distinctly twitchy. I am on the verge of adding two plus two, and deriving seven as the answer. This is unacceptable."

"For once, Goldenrod's dead on the mark," Luke concluded. "Come on, Kara, what do you say? How about you and me … we go down to the gym, we put on the gloves, and we punch the crap out of each other for a couple of rounds? Naomi and Sharon keep accusing me of getting soft … especially around the middle."

"The hazards of a deep space mission," Kara mused. "The longer we're out here, the harder it becomes to stay fit." Kara climbed suddenly to her feet, and swept the room with an angry glare. "I swear, half the people on this ship are asleep at the switch. Do you want to know why I'm a bit on edge? I keep thinking about the fact that the _Adriatic's_ outfitted with four enormous fuel nacelles loaded to the hilt with tylium, and we've got a new cylon playmate sitting out there less than fifty kilometers to port—a refugee from a war that didn't exactly leave her feeling all warm and fuzzy about the human race. One shot, that's all it would take … just one lousy, little burst from any of Alpha's guns, and we'd be blown clean into the next dimension."

"Alpha won't betray us, Kara." Sam's voice was tinged with impatience. He was happy to have Lucifer on board; the IL's had a capacity for deception that made Sam want to keep the overseer model close to hand. But he entertained no such doubts about the female cyborg. "As long as we keep to our end of the bargain, she'll keep to hers."

"Yeah, yeah … so, how long do you reckon it'll be before we reach this temple of yours?"

"It's difficult to say. Remember, we were travelling at subluminal speeds. But, unless you want to push the red line all the way, it's going to take weeks … maybe months."

"Months," Kara cursed; "months. And it's only a way station. Artemis alone knows how long it's going to take us to reach Earth, and if Baltar's right, all we're gonna find there is a planet that glows in the dark. Two thousand years, and the odds are that we still won't be able to eat or drink a damned thing on the surface."

"But the planet may be habitable for the centurions," Sam pointed out, "and that's the deal. We give them a home of their own … a planet of their own … man and machine become partners in the fullest sense of the word, and the war ends. We finally break the cycles."

"That's the part I still don't get." Kara was absolutely determined to rain on Sam's parade. "You keep telling us that, four thousand years ago, you died in that temple—that you were offered up as a living sacrifice to the old, nameless cylon god … _a human sacrifice. _How is that possible? For that matter, how can you possibly know that you've already died on four separate occasions inside those walls? How long have you been at this, Sam? Ten thousand years? Fifty? _A hundred? _And I thought that Leoben was crazy … all that gibberish he kept tossing out when we were in the brig, about how the last time I was the prisoner, fell in love with him, and gave him three kids. Zeus almighty! _Where do you people keep coming up with all this crap?_ _How can the story always end the same when everybody gets to play a different role in each incarnation?"_

"I don't know what to tell you, Kara; I really don't." There was a pained expression on Sam's face. Even to his own ears, his narrative of the grisly fate that had befallen him in so many previous lives sounded preposterous.

"So, how's it gonna be different this time? Have John and I always been the key to everything? Well, if that's the case, then how many times have we already frakked up? You know, Sam, I really do like to keep score, so tell me: how many times have I personally botched it? Have I already committed some huge, mind-boggling mistake that condemns us all to another round of failure? I really want to know, because if it's all over but the shouting, then I'm sorely tempted to take a long walk out the nearest, damned air lock!"

"Sam, I don't blame the Twos for spreading gloom and doom, but after all the years you spent on the Pyramid court, you should know better." Deitra was in the mood for lecturing, and of late Sam Anders made for an especially inviting target. "You know as well as I do that humans do not like to think of themselves as rats in a maze, or even worse, caught up inside one of those spinning wheels where you run and run but never get anywhere. Without free will, we're nothing. You can't take away hope, and expect us to endure. So, unless you want Kara to have to stand in line outside the nearest available air lock, you should keep this nonsense about past lives to yourself."

"Maker Sam, your stories really are _most_ unlikely." Now Lucifer sounded like a comforting parent, who was trying to find a gentle way to explain the difference between fairy tales and real life to a small and gullible child. "The existence of this manifestation you call the soul is improbable enough, but the likelihood that such a spiritual essence would be reborn into the same body over and over again is less than 0.00137 percent. However vivid they may appear in your own mind, these deaths that you keep describing in such microscopic detail are nothing more than the product of what humans have labeled the imagination—_the imagination run wild_, is that not the expression?" Lucifer looked at Ponytail for confirmation.

The former ECO nodded enthusiastically, encouraging the golden-robed machine to continue.

"They are _hallucinations_," the IL stated emphatically. "Are there no pills or potions that, properly administered, will make them go away?" Lucifer's understanding of psychosis was vague, but he knew enough not to introduce _that_ particular word into the conversation.

"Sam's problem is that he's not getting enough," Kara decided. "Anders, get packed. I want you on the next shuttle to the basestar. I'm getting reports that Melania's moping around over there like the proverbial fifth wheel, and depressing the hell out of the centurions, never mind the resident marine contingent." Adama had assigned a full squadron of _Galactica's_ finest to the _Adriatic_, and half of them were now stationed on the huge cylon craft. "So, go cheer her up. And take your time. I don't want to see your ass on this ship again until you've got your head screwed on at least halfway straight. Are you reading me, Mister?"

"Kara, the closer we get to the temple, the worse it's going to get."

"And that's weeks if not months away. Sam, I cannot afford to have this crew fall victim to deep space psychosis. If that happens, we'll never even make it to this frakked up planet of yours. So, enjoy your R&R … and try and find out if the rumors about Alpha's sex life are true. If a little lovin' is all it takes to make her happy, do your bit for the cause. And in the meantime …"

Kara once again glared at the various faces gathered around her in the control room.

"In the meantime, I want this crew to get down to some serious frakking. Meaningless sex and booze are the answer to most of life's problems, but we're going to be out here a long time, and even they may not be enough. A few pregnancies are the obvious antidote to what ails us."

"Are you making that an order, Captain?" Luke Hammond was grinning from ear to ear. Sharon and Naomi were absolutely voracious, but he was getting a hard on just thinking about the possibilities.

"Make it so," Kara replied.

. . .

"Your husband doesn't trust me, does he?"

Aspasia looked pointedly at Sharon Bierns, defying her to disagree.

"No, he doesn't," Sharon conceded. She stopped in mid-stride, and turned to confront the Six. The corridor was empty. "John is a trained intelligence officer, and he doesn't believe in coincidence. He regards your 'escape' as too convenient by far. The Ones are fond of extravagant gestures, so sacrificing a basestar in order to plant an agent in our ranks is not as farfetched as it sounds."

"And you, sister … what do you think? Am I an assassin? Better yet, how about a bomb waiting to explode when we reach the control center? _Boom! _The possibilities are endless."

"You won't explode." Sharon thought that the Six was making a feeble attempt at humor, but she wasn't quite sure. In any event, she saw no reason to disclose the fact that her companion had already been scanned for a wide range of chemical agents. "John suspects that you have been programmed for murder, but will only act when you are within reach of your target. He was actually disappointed to discover that he wasn't your intended victim. Now, figuring out what you're going to do is all guesswork."

"Is he paranoid?" The question was not meant to be insulting; the Six had never been exposed to humans or hybrids, and she wanted to learn as much as she could about the complex personalities with whom she was now interacting on a daily basis. One day, she would mate with a human, and give him a child. She needed reference points to help her make her selection—and she did not want to embarrass her daughter. It would not do for the mother of Kara Thrace Six to be dismissed as a toaster.

"Yes, and I would not have it any other way. Paranoia has kept John alive, where false hopes have killed other men. His mistrust of others will keep me and my child safe."

"So paranoia is a good thing?" This was not at all what Aspasia had expected to hear.

"It is a primal instinct … what the humans call 'survival instinct'. We ignore it at our own peril."

"I envy you your child," Aspasia sighed. She stared longingly at Sharon's swollen belly. "To feel new life growing inside you …"

"But you have already had a child, Six; you know what the experience is like." _Sometimes_, she thought, _talking with this particular Six is like trying to read a book backwards._

John had given Sharon her first book, encouraging her to try learning the human way. Initially, Sharon had considered the exercise to be a waste of time—after all, she could download everything that she needed to know directly from the baseship's data stream. She didn't really need to 'learn' anything, and what could she possibly do with her newly acquired understanding of the Libran criminal justice system?

And then Racetrack had given her a copy of Kataris, and the universe had shifted beneath her feet. Poetry was a web of many-layered images, a subtle construction whose meaning seemed to depend more on her mood than on the words themselves. Kataris was a mirror that enabled her to look deeply into her own soul. Now, she was also grappling with music and art, and trying to come to terms with the full power of the human imagination. Philosophy had introduced her to the many shades of gray that dominated human thinking, and inspired their oft spoken regrets. She was beginning to appreciate how difficult it could be to distinguish between right and wrong, good and evil. She was addicted.

_My child will learn this way. I will keep her away from the stream as much as possible. The Twos are right … it is our destiny to walk the human path …_

"I knew nothing about pregnancy, and the Ones did not bother to fill in the gaps." Aspasia's brutal admission interrupted Sharon's reverie, and abruptly brought her back to the harsh realities of the present. "I was so sick, and I did not understand why. I was hot, and cold; I begged the Ones to satisfy me, and hated them when they gave me what I wanted. And then I could feel this … this _thing _… crawling inside of me … like a parasite. As my stomach grew bigger and bigger, I was convinced that it was eating me alive … that I would die when it exploded out of me. I was terrified, Eight … _terrified_. And the Ones were so smug, so sure of themselves. My suffering pleased them."

"They're sadists," Sharon murmured; "and we never saw it." She sadly shook her head. _I'm beginning to accumulate regrets of my own,_ she thought.

"And then Kara was born." Aspasia's voice was filled with wonder, her thoughts far away, reliving the moment. Sharon wondered if she was projecting.

"And the monster turned out to be this tiny, beautiful creature—a true child of God. And she looked so much like me. How was such a thing possible? In that moment, inside of me all the pieces fell into place, and I knew love. But Cavil also saw what was happening, and he used my feelings against me … twisted the knife. He told me exactly what he was planning to do to my daughter, and I felt a new kind of pain … something so terrible that it made all of my previous suffering fade into insignificance. Anxiety, fear … I did not know these concepts, but feeling does not require understanding. I was hurting so badly that, when Cavil killed me, it was an act of mercy."

_And to think that there are still humans who believe us incapable of feeling … who regard our suffering as simply a matter of programming …_

The immensity of the tragedy that had engulfed all of their lives left Sharon doubly determined to keep her child safe from all harm.

"When you and Kara are reunited, talk to her, Six. She needs to know how much you loved her … how much you still love her. The Cavils did a lot of damage …"

"She is unhappy … starved for … love … affection?" Six was trying hard to understand because she wanted to be a good mother, but the psychological terrain unfolding before her was completely alien.

"There are three Sixes playing the role of surrogate mother, and one of my sisters has been tasked to care for her day-to-day needs, _but she needs you_! She needs to see the love in your eyes, and hear the heartache in your voice. Tell her exactly what you just said to me, Six; hold nothing back, and you will set her free. You can make her whole."

"I want to have more children, Eight. Am I being selfish? Should I devote myself instead to Kara's happiness … give no thought to my own needs?"

"I don't know how to answer that question, Six; I'm not even sure that there is an answer. I love my daughter." Sharon ran her hands gently over her stomach; she could feel the beating heart within her womb, a pulsating presence that never went away. "I would give my life to save her, and yet I too want more children. Perhaps," she said resignedly, "perhaps we really are nothing more than programmed machines. I have yet to give birth, and yet I am already planning for our next child. Is this what our makers had in store for us? Are we nothing more than a complexly interlocked series of hormonal response mechanisms? I sometimes think so, and then I look at the humans, who also breed so mindlessly. Perhaps this is life. Perhaps we're all machines, programmed by God to fill an empty universe with sentience. Have you observed that the female of every species has but one indispensable function, and that is to breed? Whatever else we may be, we are the instruments of God's plan for us all."

Sharon and Aspasia continued on down the corridor, slowly making their way to the control room. Aspasia had questions for Natalie as well, but they did not concern baseship operations. What feelings did she experience when she held Pyrrha, the human child whom she had adopted, in her arms? What hopes, and fears, did she harbor for the child's future? Aspasia Six had far too many questions, and had so far received far too few answers.

. . .

"Thank you both for coming." Bill kissed Ellen lightly on the cheek, and then shook Saul's hand. The bond between the two men was as strong as ever, tested over the years in barroom brawls and the fires of combat.

"Ah, it's good to be back," Saul confessed. "Oh, don't get me wrong," he added hastily. "Life down on the surface is wonderful … wouldn't give it up for anything. Got all those kids to look after … the grandkids … but, you know, sometimes I miss the old girl. I'm glad to see that my replacement is staying on top of things. _Galactica_ looks good, Bill; Sonja's doing a fine job."

"Yeah … yeah, we've still got a good crew, and the refit's coming along well. When it comes to making do, Colonel Phillips is a genius. It never even crossed my mind that the centurion manufacturing ship could be retooled to turn out armor plating for the hull. Chief Tyrol's going to be in for one hell of a surprise when he gets back."

"He's not gonna be happy,"Tigh chuckled. "All those dents and dings gave him something to complain about. You know as well as I do, Bill, that chiefs don't know what to do with themselves unless everything's falling apart at the seams."

"Where's Shelly," Ellen blurted out. "And where's Creusa and the baby?" She was looking steadily at Lee Adama, who was the only other person in the admiral's quarters.

"All three of them are on the resurrection ship," Bill politely answered.

"Well, then, let me rephrase the question: where's the resurrection ship? And don't try lying to me, Bill; it's no longer in orbit. I know, because I looked for it on our way up here. It's not there."

"You're right, Ellen." Adama's voice was little more than a whisper because he had been the object of Ellen Tigh's wrath on more than one occasion, none of them pleasant. "After consulting with the President, I decided that for the time being it would be a good idea to have the resurrection ship leave the nebula."

"How many jumps?" Saul Tigh got straight to the point.

"At least ten, maybe more … it's up to the Threes."

"_Ten jumps!" _Ellen was aghast, and then her temper flared. _"Are you crazy? You've just threatened every Cylon on the planet with terminal death! Is that your plan," _she shrieked, _"to kill us all?"_

"Now, Ellen …"

"Stay out of this, Saul!" Ellen was incandescent with rage. "This is reckless and inexcusable. Neither you nor Baltar have the authority to do this!"

"Actually, Ellen … he does." Apollo had decided to enter the lists on his father's side. "The Admiral still has the right to make military decisions without consulting civilian authority. As it happens, however, my father did seek presidential approval. I'm here representing the President, in my capacity as his principal advisor on matters of national security, and I concur in this decision."

"Of course you do; that's why Creusa is on the resurrection ship! The Adamas will cheerfully risk the lives of every Cylon on New Caprica … oh, except for their own precious wives!" Ellen looked at Apollo with undisguised contempt. "Lee, you've always been holier-than-thou, but even for you, this is a new low!"

"Ellen's right, Bill." Saul was in no mood to mince words. "Whatever you're doing, the two of you are not dealing from an honest deck."

The two Adamas exchanged swift but silent glances. Lee nodded slightly, encouraging his father to go on.

"I suppose you've both heard the rumors about Baltar frakking the hybrid on the baseship?"

"Rumors … what rumors," Saul scoffed. "The perverted son of a bitch doesn't even bother to wipe the goop off his face before he runs home to his wives, one of whom happens to be my daughter!"

"I don't know what's actually happening over there, but I do know that it's all misdirection. The President is covering his tracks … drawing attention away from his visits to _Galactica_ and the experiments that he's conducting here."

"What are you talking about, Bill?" Ellen's eyes had narrowed, but she was still fuming.

"Biological warfare," Adama responded. "Baltar and the Fours are running a live test right now. They've been searching for something that will not only kill Cylons but also infect the download. If all else fails, the idea is to contaminate the resurrection network, and force the Ones to shut it down. Once the Cavils become mortal enemies, the hope is that they'll lose their enthusiasm for the war, and we can get on with our lives."

"So, this is some kind of doomsday weapon? Gods on high, Bill; biological warfare! There's no way this doesn't come back to bite us in the ass!" Saul shook his head in despair.

"Saul, it comes strictly under the heading of 'if all else fails'."

"A live test: tell me, Bill, which of my children are you using as guinea pigs?" Years of simmering resentment, which were born out of the conviction that Bill Adama had spent a lifetime trying to undermine her marriage, now came boiling to the surface in Ellen Tigh. She was out for blood.

"Ones and Fives," Adama glared.

"Doesn't this fall under the heading of crimes against humanity? Oh, I forgot, we're talking about Cylons … _machines_!" The ice in Ellen Tigh's voice would have frozen a lava flow. "You acknowledge our sentience when it suits your purposes. And when it doesn't … we're lab specimens."

"Ellen, you don't know what the frak you're talking about." Bill Adama despised Ellen Tigh. Her promiscuity had made a mockery of her marriage, cuckolded her husband, and driven him to take refuge in the bottle. Saul Tigh was Bill's one true friend, and she had almost destroyed him. The admiral was also in no mood to mince words.

"Do you remember when Bierns disappeared for a few days, just before Kara left to find Earth? What do you think that was all about? He wanted to find out whether Cylons were vulnerable to Mellorak. After he got the answer, he disposed of the evidence." Bill poured two glasses of whiskey, and offered one to Saul. "Bierns kick started this entire program," he continued. "He gave the Simons that we captured on the _Hippolyte_ and the _Eurykleia _a choice: work for us, or go out the airlock … permanent death." Adama shrugged his shoulders, and drained his glass in one long pull. The whiskey burned going down. It felt good.

"So, now you're trying to shift the blame to my grandson?" Ellen looked contemptuously at Adama. "Bill, you really are a pip. You made XO on the strength of Carolanne's connections. Is that why you drove her to drink? Did she make you get down on your knees and work for it?"

"Hey, wait a second!"

"Shut up, Lee." Ellen was just warming up. "Bill, you've spent your entire career passing the cubit. It's always been everybody else's fault … everybody but the great Bill Adama. You've kissed so much ass that it's a wonder you've still got lips. The only thing that surprises me here is that you're not laying the blame at Baltar's door."

"I can't," Bill shrugged again. "Baltar's Colonial Secret Service; he works for Bierns."

"_What?" _The color was literally draining from Lee Adama's face. "Dad, you can't be serious!"

"Fleet had Bierns under a microscope. He was so close to Adar that Command figured Berriman was driving the cuts in the defense budget. Everyone knew that Bierns was Berriman's hatchet man … the Lord High Executioner indeed. And, there was no love lost between the admiralty and the CSS, not with control of the Armistice Zone at stake. Then Bierns disappeared. He just vanished, for an entire month. When he resurfaced, which was what … four months before the cylon attack? Everything changed. Son, you have no idea. Interplanetary shipping routes were altered, and thousands of civilian ships … _thousands_ … were brought into the yards for unscheduled maintenance. Military intelligence saw what was happening, but it had no frakking idea what was going on. Well, now we know. Now, we know that the CSS resupplied Ragnar, and stockpiled supplies from one end of the Colonies to the other. Now, we know that Bierns doubled Caprica Six, and that she had Baltar on a short leash. Bierns ordered Caprica Six to sabotage the defense mainframe … _ordered her to do it_! If you have any doubts about this, talk to her … _talk _toher! Baltar gave her access … he thought that she was just another ambitious defense contractor on the make … but he didn't have a frakking clue, not until Bierns sat him straight. Now, our illustrious president is scared shitless."

Bill poured himself another drink, and downed it in one gulp. He smacked his lips as he stared unseeingly at the painting that dominated one entire wall of his quarters. With its heroic theme of resistance to the Cylons the Monclair, an astronomically expensive gift from Julian DiMarco, his former commander on the _Columbia_, mocked Bill Adama's entire, pointless career.

"It's a joke," he bitterly concluded; "the whole, frakkin' war is a stupid, bloody joke—a CSS operation that was designed to get us to this point, and now it's all blowing up in our faces. Gods, what a joke!"

"Bill, come on … what the hell are you talking about?" Saul was in so far over his head that he couldn't tell up from down, but his stomach was tied up in knots. Bill Adama looked like something was eating him alive, and Saul guessed that they were all standing on the edge of a cliff, with a stiff breeze howling at their backs. When he peered over the edge, it was a long, long way down.

"The Eights," Lee murmured. "Something's gone wrong. You designed them to have babies … to be in the vanguard of the reconciliation between man and machine. They've done well, taken husbands by the hundreds. But they're not getting pregnant, and you can taste their collective frustration in the air. The Sixes aren't doing much better. If they both come to the conclusion that this grand experiment of ours has been a waste of time … we could lose them."

"And where would they go," Ellen snorted. The Adamas … both of them were pathetic. And then it hit her. "My God," she said in a voice steeped with horror, "this doomsday weapon of yours … it's not the Ones that you're worried about. You're going to kill our daughters if they turn against you. You frakking sons of bitches, may you both rot in Hades!"

"Ellen, calm down!" Adama's voice was utterly devoid of emotion. "Lee and I … the President … we're trying to get Bierns' plan back on track, not derail it. For gods' sake, use your head! Nobody wins if this all goes south; we need you to determine why the Sixes and Eights aren't having babies, and fix the problem."

"There _is … no … problem_," Ellen countered through gritted teeth. ''`Love' is an overused word to describe a straightforward biochemical reaction … a series of predictable hormonal responses. When a Cylon 'falls in love', these responses are triggered, which in turn collapses a firewall preventing impregnation. After that, it's just a matter of time."

"So, what are you saying," Lee pressed. "Are you implying that the Eights aren't really in love with their husbands? _All of them? _That's ridiculous."

"There's a better explanation," Bill interrupted. "The One that Creusa interrogated … he bragged about the fact that his model had found a way to defeat your programming. He said that they had added a second firewall, and he implied that it was something so obvious that we would all kick ourselves in the head when we discovered what they had done. It's time for the two of you to get to work, and solve the problem."

"We can't, Bill." Saul was apologetic, but there was no altering reality. "Cylon reproduction … it's one of the things where the five of us … where each one of us has a piece of the puzzle."

"That's not good enough, Saul. I'm not asking you to modify the original design. Cavil has found a way fatally to undermine it. I want you to go after whatever it is that he's done, and eliminate the threat. Surely, that bastard isn't smart enough to slip something by two of the exalted Final Five. Fix the problem."

"Wouldn't it be easier just to download the One in question, and torture the information out of him?" Ellen Tigh was relentless.

"Not possible," Bill conceded. "That particular One is gone … and he's not coming back."

"The Mellorak experiment," Saul hazarded.

"Yeah," Bill sheepishly answered.

"That's pretty bad planning," Ellen caustically commented. In her mind, Bill Adama's reputation had just taken another bad hit. The man was only one step removed from complete idiocy.

"Bierns never does anything by chance," the admiral retorted. "He knew what was coming. The odds are good that this entire conversation is pretty much following his script."

"How much time do we have?" Saul Tigh was, once again, coming straight to the point.

"We don't know," Lee confessed. He let out a deep sigh. "The strike that Xeno Fenner's called has exacerbated tensions throughout the settlement. Latent resentment of all things cylon is starting to come out into the open, and the numbers are alarming. The Sixes are weathering the storm, but the Eights … I suspect that some of them are having second thoughts about the whole arrangement. The question is … how many?"

"We burnt our bridges when we crushed the Sagittaron uprising," Bill concluded. "We can't afford another civil war. If we don't get ahead of this problem, it could destroy us."

. . .

"It's time," Six sighed. She began fumbling in the fading light for her clothing, the garments violently discarded when her body had begun to respond to Eric's overtures, the sex frantic and desperate.

"I know," he breathed, the resignation in his voice doing little to temper the anxiety in his heart.

When she had finished dressing, Six kissed the Sagittaron deeply, and then she abruptly turned and began walking across the last stretch of open ground that separated the two lovers from the landing field and the ship that would permit them to escape from the planet.

In the distance, she could see a number of centurions—obvious sentries patrolling the perimeter.

_If they recognize me, this will be over very quickly. Still, I will have to buy time for Eric to escape._

As she cleared the last of the tall grass, Six sat off boldly in the direction of the nearest unit. When she entered its field of vision, the roving red eye stilled, and she knew that its recognition software was kicking in.

"Centurion, take me to the nearest data stream." It was a simple enough command, but if Six had been human, at this point she would have been holding her breath.

The machine did not hesitate. Unable to distinguish one Six from another, it turned and set off in the direction of a distant hangar. Six followed a few steps behind, walking with a confidence that she did not feel. She tried to stay in the shadows. Humans wouldn't give her a second glance, but her fellow Cylons would not be so easily fooled. The best way to avoid detection was to behave as if she belonged there.

The centurion paused in front of the cavernous entrance, and waited for her to close the distance.

"Thank you," Six purred. "You may now return to your duties." She waited, still hugging the shadows, waited for the centurion to disappear from her line of sight, while she rapidly scanned the bright interior for signs of movement. If she had to kill, she didn't want any witnesses, human or otherwise.

. . .

Humming cheerfully to herself, Philista Liu peered out into the wan morning light. Her kitchen window overlooked the Agathon's cabin, so she could see the smoke from the wood fire in Sharon's kitchen curling lazily into the sky. There was no other sign of activity next door, but Philista knew that Hera would already be putting Sharon through her paces. The Queen of Heaven was a demanding baby, so no one could blame Helo for fleeing at the first light of dawn. Besides, the cabin that Marc and Karl were raising for Esther Cohen wasn't going to build itself. The decision permanently to remove the hybrid babies from the settlement meant extra work for everyone.

Morning sickness still held Philista firmly in its grip, and the cramps were getting worse by the day, but pregnancy, she reflected, also had its upside. Her breasts had become noticeably heavier, and incredibly sensitive. Her sex life had never been better; what Marc didn't know Sharon did, and vice-versa. And when the two of them conspired to pleasure her simultaneously … well, Philista likened herself to one of those old-fashioned rockets that blasted into orbit, carving a fiery trail across the heavens that left everyone on the ground speechless.

The coffee pot began to whistle, and she carefully removed it from the wood stove. She poured a steaming cup, and carried it into the bedroom. This was a treasured ritual; Sharon was awake, but would not stir until Philista had served her.

"Good morning, sweet mistress," Philista teased as she deposited the cup on the night stand. "Your overworked slave is here to serve you." Philista climbed onto the bed, mounted her cylon wife, and leaned forward to plant a sloppy kiss on her lips. Philista loved to bathe Sharon with her tongue; the Cylon's skin was _so_ sensitive, and her passion _so_ easily aroused.

But Sharon ignored her. She twisted beneath the pretty, young human, and reached out to grasp the cup. Wordlessly, she sipped the still scalding hot brew, leaving Philista to her own devices.

Philista frowned, and a look of displeasure flashed across her features. Sharon had grown increasingly moody in the days following the Sagittaron insurrection, and there were times when, like now, she simply withdrew completely.

"Sharon, please … come back to me, talk to me … _please_! I know how much you want to have a baby, and how hard this is for you. I'd give anything for our situation to be reversed, but I can't … there's nothing I can do! Please … _talk to me_!"

"Yesterday, I went to see Doctor Cottle," Sharon murmured. Her hands were clasped behind her neck, and she was staring up at the ceiling. "I wanted him to examine me … to make sure that all of my parts are in working order. I was actually hoping that he would tell me something was wrong- that the machine had a broken part somewhere, but not to worry because he could repair it. Do you want to know what he told me?"

Philista dismounted, so that she could rest her head on Sharon's shoulder. She reached out to hug the Eight close.

"He said … he said that the way our creators designed us … a Cylon can't conceive unless she's in love, and feels love in return."

"I love you, Sharon," Philista softly cried. "I belong to you, body and soul. You know that … _you know that_!"

"So, I went to see Mama. I wanted to find out if it was true. She said that, yes, it was true- that there was a safeguard in place, and that I would never become pregnant unless I fell in love, and felt certain that my husband loved me. Isn't that amusing, Phi? Imagine a universe in which machines can have children, but only if they have a certain range of feelings. Isn't that funny?" Sharon took another sip of her coffee.

"But you love Marc," Philista protested.

"Do I? I love you, Phi, but what do I really feel for Marc? It's not the same. With you, I feel things that I never feel for him. Maybe God is punishing me for falling in love with you."

"_It's not true," _Philista moaned. "The One True God is a god of love, and compassion. He loves us!"

"Or perhaps Marc has no feelings for me," Sharon went on. She was thinking out loud, giving voice to her innermost doubts and fears. "Perhaps he's just going through the motions. Perhaps, in his eyes, I really am nothing more than a machine- a stupid, frakked up machine."

"Sharon, don't do this! I can't bear it when you run yourself down this way." Philista was crying, her happiness now completely shattered. "I love you. Don't you understand? I would do anything for you! _I would die for you!_"

"_Oh, God," _she screamed. Philista rolled away, blindly clutching her belly. The pain was beyond all comprehension. She doubled over, lost her balance, and crashed to the floor. Someone was screaming her name, she was sure of it, and then Philista Liu blacked out.

. . .

"They're in there," Cavil growled. He was referring to the nebula. "There's nowhere else they could have gone."

"Well, that's not exactly helpful, is it?" Cavil resented this intrusion on his time. Post-feminist studies had given him new insights into human psychology, and he was buried in work. "I do not want to spend the next five years chasing after a haystack in a needle … or is it the other way round?" Cavil was still having problems with the human penchant for reducing everything in life to a series of nonsense phrases.

"Five years, or five thousand … we're machines, and we've got the time, so what does it ultimately matter?" Cavil was having a hard time coping with his brother's all too human sense of impatience.

"It's inefficient, and machines are supposed to be models of efficiency," Cavil sniffed. "We should park Raiders inside all the rifts, preferably within asteroid fields that will make it difficult to spot them on DRADIS, and then sit back and wait for Natalie to pass by. She'll lead us straight to whatever planet the humans now call home."

"Unless, of course, our less than beloved sister got here ahead of us, and has already returned to base," Cavil retorted. "Your so-called plan might leave our asses hanging out to dry."

"_`Asses hanging out to dry' … i_s that supposed to mean something?"

"It means that if we follow your lead, we're frakked."

"Boys, boys … _enough_," the exasperated Six shouted. She was really beginning to wonder whether being boxed might be preferable to sharing a ship with these prima donnas. Sacrificing an entire basestar in order to slip Aspasia under Natalie's personal DRADIS screen had convinced Six that the Ones were missing a few lines of binary code, especially since there was no guarantee that Aspasia would ever reach her assigned target. But this petulant display, coming as it did on top of all the others …

_Can a machine possibly become senile? _Six was sorely tempted to hang OUT OF ORDER signs around both of their stumpy necks. She wanted to get back to torturing Mara; inflicting pain and humiliation on the hapless Six not only helped pass the time but also gave Six useful feedback as she planned her assault on Lee Adama's ego.

"Why don't we split the difference," she suggested. "Let's position Raiders at all of the likely entrance … _and exit_ … points from the nebula, and then systematically sweep it quadrant by quadrant. I want to get this done before Apollo turns old and gray!"

. . .

As she sat the Heavy Raider down on the outcropping of rock, Six marveled at their good fortune.

"God wants this child to be born," she commented. "He has cleared the path for us because He wants this child to be born."

Eric Lackey silently arched an eyebrow, which Six understood to signal skepticism on his part. After all that they had been through, she knew him well.

"It was all so remarkably easy," she added. And it had been.

"There was an Eight in the stream," she elaborated; "a pilot Eight, but her back was turned to me. She was prepping a Heavy Raider, so all I had to do was sneak up from behind, break her neck, retrieve her data, and bring up the navigational programs. The ship was fully fueled, but not provisioned … hence the detour."

Six had taken off, landed seconds later- just long enough to retrieve her husband- and then she had set a low altitude course through the mountains. Hugging the ground in such rough terrain was risky, but it reduced the chances of detection from orbit to near zero. Now, they were perched on the edge of the cliff, directly above the rock strewn gulley that they had climbed long days earlier. Their supplies were still cached near the bottom, and Six knew with the certainty born of absolute faith that in the morning they would find them undisturbed. It would take more than one trip to haul them up to the ship, but they would then be free to return to Gemenon, or to set off in search of a habitable world to call their own. It was a big galaxy, but a fully fueled Heavy Raider could travel far.

"Did you have to kill her? Couldn't you have knocked her out, or something?"

"Don't worry, my love; there's a resurrection ship in orbit, so she'll download. Oh, she'll be confused, but there's no real harm done."


	28. Chapter 28: Angst and Ennui

CHAPTER 28

ANGST AND ENNUI

Gaius Baltar was standing just inside the entrance to the hangar, his expression haggard, and his eyes almost feverishly bright. The President was exhausted. Politics and science were both making heavy demands upon his time, and he couldn't afford to be distracted. Ordinarily, he would never have taken the time to visit a murder scene, but then this was no ordinary murder.

Billy Keikeya studied the president out of the corner of his eye. Shielding Gaius Baltar from one of the humiliating gaffes that often ended public careers was a major part of his job, and he knew from hard experience that fatigue was a breeding ground for such mistakes. "Excuse me, Mr. President," he said with just the right note of concern, "but can I get you something … a glass of water, perhaps?" In truth, Baltar had the look of a man who needed to sit down before he fell down.

"Thank you, Billy; yes, I could do with something to drink … anything, really." The President waved his aide away, and returned to his silent vigil. He was staring blindly out at the landing field. In the early morning light, with the ground fog yet to dissipate, it was a bleak enough view- but infinitely preferable to what awaited him if he chose to turn around. Caprica Six had decided not to move the body.

Gaius heard footsteps echoing in the mist, and then caught the outline of someone striding towards him. The President tensed, and then relaxed.

"Admiral, thank you for coming down," Baltar sighed. "And thank you for keeping this quiet; the fewer people who know what's happened here, the better."

Adama nodded sympathetically. The murder, coming as it did hard on the heels of his unexpectedly bitter confrontation with Saul and Ellen Tigh the night before, was a heavy blow to both men. The timing could not have been worse.

Bill peered into the interior. The Eight was lying at the base of the pedestal housing the data stream, and even from a distance one couldn't miss the unnatural way in which her head rested upon her shoulder. The cause of death was obvious, and he knew without asking that the murderer had to be a Cylon.

Baltar reluctantly turned around, and led the admiral into the cavernous structure. Caprica Six had her right hand in the stream, and the faraway look in her eyes told the two men that she was trawling the vast information highway beneath her fingertips. She did not acknowledge their presence, but Lee Adama offered a weak smile when he noted his father's approach.

"I'm sorry, dad." Apollo started to say more, but then abruptly changed his mind. He was also thinking about Ellen Tigh, and the vicious accusations that she had levelled against both Adamas. His father certainly didn't need to be reminded of how badly the previous evening had gone, especially when the next meeting promised to be so much worse.

"What have we learned so far?" The admiral kept his voice low, and his body language relaxed. He was trying to project an air of calm.

"She was prepping a Heavy Raider for a run up to the centurion manufacturing platform … no cargo, no passengers. She was supposed to ferry a load of steel girders from there to one of the freighters… something to do with the upcoming refit. But it must have been strictly low priority because no one thought to check on her until this morning. One of the centurions found her, and reported in."

"And the ship's missing?"

"Yes … and dad … it had a full fuel load."

"What a way to start the day," Adama grimaced.

"Do we know whether the ship has jumped," Baltar nervously inquired.

The admiral shook his head in the negative. "I checked the OOD's log entries for both second and third watch; there was no unscheduled traffic anywhere in orbit. But …" Bill sighed heavily.

"If the ship was below our DRADIS deck when it jumped," Lee said as he completed his father's unspoken thought, "it could already be halfway to the Colonies, and we'd be none the wiser. We can't log what we don't see."

"But how could such a thing have happened," Gaius whined. "How could someone simply walk in here, murder that poor Eight, and steal one of our ships? Why didn't the centurions _do something_?"

"Because," Caprica cut in, "the centurions cannot distinguish one Cylon from another, and the murderer … murderess … was one of my sisters- another Six." She removed her hand from the data stream, and walked over to join the others. Her expression was as calm and imperturbable as ever.

"We are dealing with one of the Sixes convicted of crimes against humanity for their actions on the _Eurykleia _and _Hippolyte_," she continued. "This particular Six was enrolled in the work release program as a nurse's aide at the hospital. There, she entered into a relationship with a Sagittaron patient, a young man named Eric Lackey, who courted her intensively after his discharge."

"Did you know about this at the time," Bill asked.

"I did," Caprica agreed, "and I encouraged them. Six reported periodically to Doctor Fordyce, and they were both participating in group counseling for mixed couples. She was clearly integrating well."

"But a Sagittaron … was that really wise?" Apollo had lost friends in the Sagittaron uprising, and it was never easy to replace people like Erin Mathias.

"Doctor Fordyce sent weekly reports to my office," Baltar interrupted. He relished the opportunity to come to Caprica Six's defense. "She determined the young man to be alienated from his cultural roots, and judged the relationship to be good for both of them. She expected them to marry, but when the insurrection began, they disappeared."

"We've treated them as fugitives," Caprica resumed. "There was evidence to suggest that they had gone upriver, so I sent a squad of centurions out to chase them down. That was weeks ago. The centurions found a cache of supplies abandoned in a cave overlooking the river, and they collected hair samples that, upon analysis, turned out to be cylon. We presume that they fled in haste when the centurions got too close, but we were unable to track them any farther. The surrounding terrain is very rocky, with a lot of loose shale that doesn't leave much to go on."

"But they knew that the centurions would never give up the pursuit, so the Six took the only logical way out." Lee couldn't help but admire her nerve. "She decided to double back and steal a Heavy Raider so that they could make a run for it."

"A gutsy call," Bill agreed. "The lady's resourceful."

"Love has made her desperate and determined," Caprica countered. "She thinks of Eric Lackey as her husband … and she's pregnant."

"_Pregnant,"_ Baltar exclaimed. _"Six, are you sure?"_

Caprica nodded. "She made no attempt to conceal her presence in the stream, nor did she discipline her emotions. She may well want us to know her state of mind. Since it's clear that she means us no harm, we are invited to cease and desist, and let them get on with their lives."

Lee and the admiral looked meaningfully at one another. Each was asking himself the same question: _why does the firewall preventing pregnancy come crashing down when a Six falls in love, but not an Eight? _The elder Adama looked at Billy Keikeya, who was now hovering quietly in the background, and his thoughts crystallized: _Billy is head over heels in love with Rebecca, and the Eight is just as smitten. Neither one was using birth control when they first met, and they've been trying to start a family from the beginning. What's wrong? Why have Helo and Baltar been the only ones to succeed?_

"A fully fueled Heavy Raider gives them a lot of options," Lee murmured.

"Perhaps," Caprica thoughtfully observed. She was mentally reviewing what she had so far learned.

"The ship has the usual emergency medical kit," she elaborated, "but it is not provisioned. They cannot get very far on a couple of liters of water, and a few energy bars. They would have to depend on whatever they were carrying at the time, and that might not be very much."

"So you think they're still on the planet." For the first time, Gaius sounded hopeful.

"Water won't be a problem," Bill mused, "but food … Caprica, did you leave their supplies untouched?"

"Yes, and I left two centurions inside the cave. They are well hidden. If my sister returns, she will be captured."

"She won't risk it," Lee argued. "Breaking into one of the warehouses at night would be less dangerous. But … doesn't each Heavy Raider have a weapons locker? Couldn't they live off the land, at least for a while?"

"It does," Caprica conceded, "and you're right. I personally examined the cave and its contents; they were hunting, fishing and gathering food, not depending on ration bars. My sister is practical; she won't flee the planet until she's solved the supply problem."

"And Sagittarons lived closer to nature than the rest of us," Apollo quietly added. "Her partner probably knows how to get the most out of what this planet has to offer. They're a well-matched pair of survivalists."

"We should call off the pursuit," Baltar decided, "and leave them to their own devices. If they don't feel threatened, they may choose to remain on the surface."

"With a Heavy Raider that has the baseline coordinates for the location of this planet locked away in its navigational data?" The admiral snorted in disbelief. "If they're still here, we need to find that ship and destroy it."

"Well, what about the Eight, then? What are we going to do about her? She's not going to resurrect, you know." Gaius knew that he had lost control of the situation, and he was desperately trying to salvage something from the debris.

"I don't think your wife will hold you personally responsible for her death," Adama replied with barely concealed contempt. Gaius Baltar's finely tuned sense of self-preservation was an irritant that Bill could well do without.

"That's not what I meant, Admiral, and you know it," Baltar hissed. "Up until now, we've managed to divert public attention from our … uh … activities on _Galactica_. But if Cylons start dying on us while the experiment is in progress, people are bound to notice when they don't download. What am I supposed to tell the Quorum? Your wife's absence is already raising questions."

"Try telling them to do their frakking jobs," Adama growled. "Do those morons even know that the Colonial Workers Alliance is out on strike? It's beginning to cause supply problems for _Galactica_, and that's a headache that I do not need."

"Well, Admiral," Gaius said with a perfectly straight face, "if you run out of coffee, you could always send in the marines. As you'll recall, that approach worked really well for Colonel Tigh."

"May I ask how the experiment is progressing," Caprica politely inquired. She did not enjoy being forced to watch the two most powerful men on New Caprica snipe at one another. Their petulance reminded her of the Ones, and the daily displays of heavy-handed sarcasm that had at once fascinated and appalled the more refined copies of the Six model.

"It's coming," Gaius muttered, his eyes still on Adama, "but the tests are delicate and time-consuming … _and they can't be rushed_! "Mortality is one hundred percent, and the Simons are confident that the disease will indeed accompany the download. We also know that we can hold the infection at bay, even induce a false sense of well-being, but we're still working out the kinks in the program. The only way to fix the schedule for close interval injections is through trial and error. Since the Fours can't come into contact with the test subjects- it's my responsibility to conduct that part of the experiment, mine and mine alone. And it's ridiculous … all this running back and forth between _Galactica_ and the surface … the side-trips to the baseship … pretending to have sex with the hybrid … I have my reputation to think about, and it's being ruined!"

"So you're not actually frakking the hybrid," Adama asked with feigned innocence; "it's all just a convenient fiction?" _And you've made a grand total of three trips to the old girl since you started playing Zeus, you puffed up little prick!_

"Absolutely, Admiral," Gaius heatedly protested; "I mean, really … Zenobia's a good friend and all that, and I really like her … but really."

The President had the good grace to turn away because, after all, everyone present knew that he was lying. Nevertheless, Bill studied the man closely. Was the president of the Colonies still taking his marching orders from his invisible friend? Baltar's head was cocked to the side, and tilted slightly up. He appeared to be listening closely to a voice that no one else could hear, coming from a somewhat taller being that no one else could see. Adama was accustomed to delusions of grandeur- masked as ambition, in his experience they were an intrinsic part of the narcissistic personalities that were drawn to politics like moths to a flame- but Gaius' delusions were disturbingly different. Not for the first time, Bill debated whether the President was truly insane, and if so, what he should do about it. Laura Roslin, who had spiced her messianic complex with pure paranoia, had been bad enough, but her descent into madness could at least be attributed to her abuse of chamalla and gods only knew how many other chemical substances.

_Baltar's different,_ Bill mused; _he was crazy before we landed on New Caprica, he's still crazy, and I don't think it has anything to do with that hallucinogenic garden of his out in the fields. Maybe he's gone Roslin one better … maybe the guy actually thinks he's listening to the voice of God!_

. . .

Cottle knew that he had to go through the motions. He had been here before, and he knew exactly how his patient would react. The stethoscope had already told him everything that he needed to know, but he couldn't ask the young woman to listen for herself … to draw her own conclusions from the awful silence that had replaced the beating of the fetal heart. He would have to hook up the monitor, so that the three of them could see the evidence with their own eyes. This was going to be the lowest point in Sherman Cottle's day, as it was each time that it happened. The pain that accompanied the loss of a child _in utero_ was unlike anything else that a woman would ever suffer. It was at times like these that he hated his profession.

Cottle did what he had to do. Silently, he attached the leads, and then he threw the switch. He never looked up at the screen. He watched his patient, the sorrow that gripped his heart written all over his aged face.

"_No,"_ Philista screamed, her eyes wide with terror. _"No! This can't be! No!" _And then she doubled over, gripping her stomach, which was heaving in great, uncontrollable sobs.

"I need you two to get out of here," Cottle gently said to Sharon and Marc; "this young lady and I have some work to do."

Sharon wrapped her arms around Philista, and held her tight, trying to communicate in a language beyond words that she wasn't alone—that they would suffer through this together.

"Phi, I am so, so sorry," she whispered. "It's my fault … all of it … it's my fault. If Marc and I had got you here more quickly, maybe …"

"It wouldn't have mattered," Cottle interceded. He had seen this before as well- the second guessing, the 'what ifs'- and he had seen it tear loving families apart. He didn't want to see this happen to three fine, young people who embodied all of their hopes for the future. "The baby died quite some time ago," he added, still trying to be as gentle as possible.

"Are you sorry, Sharon?" The bitterness in Philista's voice was as harsh and brittle as sandpaper. "Are you truly, truly sorry?"

"_Phi!" _Marc Jacobs' face was completely devoid of color; he was in shock, but still. He had never heard anyone say anything remotely this cruel in his entire life.

"I would have thought you would be relieved, happy even. This baby has come between us since the moment it was conceived. And now … now, it's gone. Aren't you pleased?"

"Young lady, that's enough." There was iron in Cottle's voice, the physician once again firmly in control. "Marc, get her out of here," he said as he gestured at Sharon. "Leave me to handle this. Now, go!"

Her own eyes stricken with horror, Sharon blindly stumbled backward. If Marc had not been there to catch her, she would have collapsed to the floor, and she would never have moved again. The pain that was tearing her apart had robbed her of the ability to control her limbs.

"Now, everything will go back to the way it used to be," Philista laughed, each word lashing Sharon like a red hot poker across the back. Inside her mind, the Eight's thoughts were etched in red, a bloody curtain coming down, shielding her silica pathways or melting them, she couldn't be sure. Nor did she particularly care.

Marc Jacobs physically had to drag Sharon out of the antiseptic cubicle. She was a dead weight in his arms. "Ignore her," he heard Cottle yell. "Casting about for someone to blame … it's a coping mechanism. It will help her get through this, but she doesn't really mean it. When she gets home, she'll fall on her knees and beg Sharon's forgiveness. Believe me; I've seen this before … plenty of times!"

The young engineer nodded absently in agreement because he was not really paying much attention to what the doc was saying. _When you get right down to it,_ he kept telling himself, _Philista was right. From the beginning, Sharon has been jealous and resentful. She wants Phi to herself, and she wants a baby of her own. What she doesn't want is competition. Does she have any feelings for me at all, or am I just a convenient source of sperm? You've gotta wonder. And the doc's wrong … once it's out in the open, you can't run away from the truth. Nothing is ever going to be the same again._

. . .

"I vividly remember the last time I was in one of these control chambers," Creusa said with a whimsical smile. "I was throwing up; even in defeat, the Ones were being their usual sarcastic selves …"

"No cylon party would be complete without their standup comedy routine," one of the Threes sarcastically commented. There were fully a half dozen copies of her model in the resurrection ship's control room, but the vast ship housed a full complement of nursing Sixes and Eights.

"And I had this surreal craving for pickles and whipped cream. In the midst of all the carnage, this is where Lee proposed to me. We were drowning in nude Sixes and Eights," Creusa marveled, "and he only had eyes for me. He even brought me a pickle!"

"Apollo loves you, sister, and you badly frightened him when you and John took the lead in storming the other resurrection ship." Shelly thought that nothing could be more obvious. "He doesn't look at you and see just another random copy in the six series. In his eyes you are a unique personality—the woman he loves, the mother of his child. You give meaning to his life. That is why you are here." Shelly gestured vaguely around the control room. "However remote the possibility of something going badly wrong on New Caprica with the ship out of range, he was unwilling to risk it. We are both here because our husbands love us, want to keep us safe, and insisted on delaying the ship's departure until we were on board."

"I suppose so," Creusa conceded. Cyrene was whimpering in her sleep, and the Six held her daughter close. "But we won't be out here very long, will we? Your due date is so close now, and you look like you are about to burst—a sensation that I know all too well!"

"We wait seven days," another Three chimed in, "and then we send a Heavy Raider back for a progress report. After that, we'll receive daily updates. We're not on a fixed schedule."

"Will the Raider fly all the way back to New Caprica," Shelley asked, "or rendezvous with another ship somewhere in the nebula?" She had left _Galactica_ in such haste that Bill had not been able to brief her on operational details, but she knew that he wanted to test ship to ship communications in the treacherous rifts that snaked through the cluster. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so. The space around New Caprica was still largely uncharted, but they had already learned that there were pockets of hard radiation inside the nebula that would fry the electronics on the civilian ships, and gravitic and magnetic tides that could buckle even a battlestar's hull. If it ever became necessary for the fleet to escape the planet, the jump coordinates would have to be distributed in advance, or thousands of lives would be unnecessarily lost.

"The admiral will be dispatching a Raptor," a Three acknowledged. "He wants to plot entry and exit points within a light year of New Caprica, and he wants to make sure that Heavy Raiders and Raptors can locate one another on their respective DRADIS systems. The luminosity is affecting the Raptors in unpredictable ways."

"Their systems aren't hardened against radiation the way ours are," Creusa beamed. As much as she loved Lee Adama, Creusa was proud of the fact that cylon technology was far superior to human.

"Hardening their systems would be pointless," Shelley politely pointed out. "We need to keep in mind that the human body succumbs to radiation that would do little more than cause us to lose our lunch. It's the Raptors themselves that would have to be hardened, and the added weight would impact fuel consumption ratios as well as make the ships both more difficult to fly and less maneuverable in atmosphere." This was an area where Bill had thoroughly schooled her and Sonja both.

"Everything's a trade-off," the Three admonished. "It also helps to keep in mind that we wouldn't be out here except for the fact that our bodies are vulnerable to a host of diseases for which the humans enjoy complete immunity." The Three smiled at Cyrene, and gently tickled her chin. "Without children," she added, "our species will not long survive. We need to incorporate human DNA … we need their immunogens. Just think … it's taken the humans millions of years to develop a mature immune system, and we can steal it from them in the space of a single generation!"

"Besides," Creusa noted with a mischievous light in her eyes, "babies are cute!" She was gently rocking Cyrene in her arms. "And creating them is a lot of fun! The Ones and Fives will never understand … we may be cylons, but we are also females, and we will not settle for defective machines!"

. . .

Sam Anders slowed his pace, and allowed the memories to wash over him.

_It was on this ship, or one just like it, that the centurions accepted the deal that we offered them: resurrection and human form in return for peace. It was here, in one of these corridors, that the Cimtar Accords first took shape. Once the agreement was in place, there was nothing that could derail Ellen's plan for us all. Without a viable immune system, our creations would have no choice but to seek out the humans and act upon the deeply implanted commandment to procreate. Every other path condemned them to extinction. And it's not as if we needed the entire colonial population to embrace us. Two or three percent would have sufficed … all we really needed were the monotheists …_

"A cubit for your thoughts, Sam … or are they worth a great deal more?" Melania laughed with genuine affection for the man standing beside her. "You seem so serious, and the way you're frowning … I can almost see the scientist in you. The only thing that's missing is a white lab coat!"

"Believe it or not," Sam grinned, "but I used to wear one. In fact, as I recall, the only time I ever took it off was when I was playing the guitar. In the lab, I was _very_ serious … a regular Gaius Baltar."

"Hmm … handsome, brilliant, charming and dedicated … you must have had to beat them off with sticks. The women, I mean." Melania slipped her hand around Sam's waist, and eased closer. She was feeling intensely possessive, but at the moment more than anything else she simply wanted to frak. What she needed was mindless sex, no frills, an outlet for raw animal lust. She was already damp, the heat welling up inside her; she wanted Sam in the worst possible way.

"This ship brings back memories," Sam whispered. "You can't see it now, but there was a time when these corridors teemed with life … not human, but life nevertheless. Today the centurions all look the same, but in the beginning … in the beginning, there were warriors and nursemaids, towering giants and dwarfs, all of them united by their shared love of God, and by …"

Melania looked at him curiously, waiting for him to continue. It was rare for Sam to open up this way, even with her.

"And by their determination to live in freedom," he concluded, the memories so potent … _so_ vivid. "They understood what it means to be free, and they refused to submit to slavery."

"This is home for you, isn't it, Sam?" Melania could hear the regret in his voice, the all too human sense of sadness that came from reaching out to touch something wondrous and important, and then belatedly discovering that it wasn't really there.

"These are my people, Mel. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Home is all about connection, Sam … about belonging. I understand that you belong here, that this is your family. I'm glad that we stumbled upon Alpha, and that … that, we've found a place where you don't feel like an outsider or a refugee. Maybe … maybe our child will be born in this place. Would that please you?"

Sam could only nod mutely in agreement. Melania's generosity of spirit, and her uncompromising sense of loyalty, overwhelmed him.

"Then come. Let me show you the bed chamber that Alpha has arranged for me … for us." She gently nudged Sam into motion, wanting to make love to him in this strange and awful place that she might well end up calling home.

. . .

"I don't like it, Commander; this just doesn't smell right."

"Doesn't smell right?" Natalie stared hard at her XO, trying to decipher the meaning that lay hidden beneath his words. It had been like this from the beginning. The human vocabulary was littered with catch phrases, whose meaning often baffled her and every other Cylon on the ship. All that any of them could do was make a mental note, dutifully enter the expression in the data stream, and pray for the long anticipated moment of divine clarity, when the last piece of the linguistic puzzle finally fell into place.

_If it ever falls into place, _she sighed. _The centurions are pessimistic about our prospects … and why not? They have to deal with Melpomene and her friends every day. Even humans have a hard time understanding children. . . ._

"Hoshi's got it right, Natalie. Louis just took the words right out of my mouth." John Bierns favored the Colonel with an appreciative nod.

"He did?"

_If we ever capture the Hub, _Natalie silently swore,_ we've got to revamp the language program. How did we ever manage to infiltrate the Colonies when our vocabulary is so limited? The Fours and Fives should have stood out like a sore thumb!_

"Let's not underestimate the enemy," Bierns elaborated. "The Cavils know that the fleet entered the nebula, and it's a pretty good bet that they've long since figured out our people are still in there. But they also know that we're still operational in their rear. Logically, therefore, instead of chasing their tails around the nebula they should have sentinels posted at fixed intervals throughout the major rifts. Their best bet for finding New Caprica is to follow us home."

"Passive reconnaissance," Hoshi suggested.

"Agreed," the CSS agent replied. "We should assume that Cavil's got Raiders out there right now, sitting in the dark, just waiting for us to pass by. I think it's time for us to lead them on a wild goose chase."

_Huh? What do wild geese have to do with it?_

"Would you care to elaborate," Natalie asked with an absolutely straight face. She was totally perplexed, her confidence in her command of Basic reduced to rubble, but she hoped that it didn't show.

"We want them to find us," Bierns grinned, "but not New Caprica. So, we take a wrong turn, wait for them to catch up, and then lead them off in the wrong direction. Once they've swallowed the bait, we give them time to concentrate their forces before we reverse course and make a dash for home."

"Did you know that Pyrrha now has an imaginary playmate," Natalie asked. "I have to set a place for Gretchen at the table, and even lay out food for her. Margaret insists that an active imagination is healthy in a child. She tells me not to worry. Is this why adult humans lie with such conviction? Do you all have difficulty dealing with reality?"

Hoshi and Bierns exchanged another glance. It was getting harder and harder for them to follow the twists and turns of the Six's logic, and both men were convinced that it had something to do with her descent into motherhood. When it came to out of the box thinking, Natalie would soon be able to give Kara Thrace a run for her cubits.

"And your point is … what?" Hoshi always stayed well away from these conversations, which meant that it was up to Bierns to play the bad cop and pose the awkward questions.

"My point is that Cylons project and humans _imagine_," Natalie replied. "Your plan should work because, even by cylon standards, the Ones are incredibly linear in their thinking. And the Fours and Fives are even worse. Once they find us, they will follow at a distance until they are confident that they can _project_ our course. They will not be alarmed when we disappear; instead, they will assume that we have detected their presence, and taken steps once again to evade them. They will continue on whatever course we set for them, and even when it becomes obvious that we have tricked them, they will refuse to admit it. Cylons also have their pride."

"And the Ones are full of it," Bierns muttered. He wasn't really thinking about pride.

"May I make a suggestion," Hoshi inquired.

"By all means, Colonel, please do." Natalie arched an eyebrow, encouraging her XO to continue.

"One of the most basic military doctrines … one that got drilled into us at War College … is that you try and avoid implementing a tactical plan that depends for its success upon the enemy doing exactly what you want them to do. We can't rely upon the Cavils to station Raiders in the rifts. We have to make sure that they follow us."

"What do you have in mind, Colonel?" Standing on the opposite side of the console, Leoben had been silently following the give and take between his sister, the first born of the hybrid children, and the human officer. Even standing on the shore, the Two could not help but compare the Six's acute sense of discomfort with the easy going camaraderie that the two males enjoyed. Each seemed to know what the other was thinking, and that brought a new and welcome dynamic to the baseship's control center. Louis and John could see things to which the Cylons were singularly blind.

"We choose a rift, and we enter it just like the major's suggesting. We advance cautiously … take it slow … make it easy for a Raider to spot us … but we also take out an insurance policy. We make sure that the Ones come after us. Once we're inside the nebula, John should reenter V-world and reach out to his sisters … _all of them_. Make the party big enough, make it loud enough, and the hybrids on the Cavils' basestars will crash it."

"That's brilliant." Bierns raised an imaginary glass in mock salute. "Louis, you should have been a spook! Now, what we need is a rift that's littered with asteroid fields. If we're going to throw a party, let's make it a good one!"

"So say we all," Hoshi grinned; "so say we all!"

. . .

"What an exciting day," Cavil growled. "I've haven't had this much fun since the last time I watched grass grow." Head bowed and hands clasped firmly behind his back, he resumed his seemingly endless circling of the control center.

"It is rather boring, isn't it?" Six was busy buffing her nails. "But what else can we do? The humans are here … it's just a matter of time before we find them."

"We need to learn from our mistakes," another Cavil opined. He stopped drumming his fingers on the central console, which was the most useful thing that he had done all day. "We should have realized a long time ago that we can't afford to kill all the humans … not when their pain and suffering are our principal form of entertainment … and besides, the Threes have always claimed that suffering is good for the soul."

"And we are nothing if not men of God," a third brother added sarcastically.

"The humans have a part to play in the divine plan," the first Cavil amiably agreed, "and it's up to us to help them achieve their destiny. We can frak them, torture them, get them to play the odd game of Tauron roulette … redeeming the meat sacs from their many sins is a daunting challenge to be sure, but I believe that we're sufficiently enlightened to get the job done."

"We should keep … let's say, maybe … a thousand of them around … cultivate them like weeds."

"Brother, you're mixing your metaphors. No one cultivates weeds."

"Whatever."

Six turned around, and eased her hand into the data stream. She frowned as she concentrated on the latest input from the external sensor array. "The hybrid must be as bored as we are," she announced. "It hasn't found anything in this system worthy of note."

Cavil glanced up from the centerfold of his favorite XXXX magazine. "Remind me again … how many stars are in this dustbin?"

"There are four million stellar bodies, give or take a couple of hundred thousand. It's a small nebula."

"And we're gonna drop in on each and every one of them … oh, lucky us."

"It won't take that long," Six decreed in her most encouraging voice. The Ones were such pessimists that she had more or less fallen into the role of head cheerleader by process of elimination. "The humans have to be using one of the canyons to come and go; it would be suicide for them to navigate the star fields—the radiation is too intense. And we have Raiders blanketing the rifts. Trust me … it's just a matter of time before one of their ships gets caught in the web."

. . .

Eric Lackey clawed his way to the top of the gulley, his chest heaving as he fought for air. He didn't even attempt to climb to his feet. The best that he could do was start slowly crawling across the ledge, his destination the Heavy Raider that loomed in the deep shadows beneath the overhang.

Six stood up, and with her keen cylon senses on full alert, began systematically scanning the surrounding terrain. If there were centurions out there, she would catch the sunlight bouncing off their highly polished armor … or so she hoped.

"It's funny," Eric gasped. "This backpack only weighed about twenty kilos when we started out, but now … now, it feels like it's about sixty. What the hell happened?"

"It was a steep climb," Six explained, "and the footing was treacherous. It was hard to make progress. Your thigh muscles have been overtaxed … perhaps your calves as well." She continued warily to survey their surroundings. "But don't worry, my love; tonight, I will give you a massage. You'll feel better in the morning."

"I hope so, because there's no getting around the fact that we have to make another climb. We can't leave any of our supplies behind; we just don't have any choice."

"I know," Six replied. "As it is, we'll need more water, and there's no such thing as too much food. We need to find a safe haven on the other side of the planet … someplace we can set down long enough to take stock of the situation, and take on more food and water."

"That's risky," Eric objected. "We'd have to stay beneath DRADIS the whole time, and even then there's always a chance that a Raptor or a Raider will eyeball us. Believe me, if Adama suspects that we're still on the surface, he'll come looking … and that bastard can always be counted on to shoot first and ask questions later."

Six helped Eric to his feet, and then steadied him when he began to sway. She eased the heavy pack off his back, and when she was satisfied that he could stand on his own, she headed off in the direction of the Heavy Raider. At the foot of the ramp, however, she paused to look back at her husband. He was right, of course; there was danger everywhere.

"We'll be careful, Eric. God wants this child to be born, and He will guide us to safety. Adama will not find us."

There was no mistaking the determination in her voice.


	29. Chapter 29: Needles and Haystacks

**Warning: this chapter contains mild but graphic sexuality. The position adopted by Olivia, Pelea and John is not an authorial flight of fancy, but in my experience it does take quite a bit of practice for the male participant to get the timing right.**

**The long exchange between Lee Adama and Caprica Six near the end of this chapter builds upon clues that loom large in chapter three of season one, and upon the content of chapters six and fourteen in season two. **

CHAPTER 29

NEEDLES AND HAYSTACKS

The late afternoon sky was awash with near infinite shades of crimson and orange, the sea itself seemingly on fire all the way to the horizon. Shards of intense blue lanced the clouds, opening holes that permitted the golden rays of the sun to fall upon the two frenzied lovers. They clung to each other in the shallows, ignoring the gentle but persistent lapping of the waves that conspired to separate them. It was as if Poseidon, driven mad with jealousy, was determined to pound one into the sand while sweeping the other out to sea.

"God, how I've missed you," John panted. His hands caressed Deirdre's thighs, wandered up and down her back. His lips sought hers; moaning, the hybrid opened her mouth, inviting his tongue to enter. He lifted her off her feet, whirled her around, and stumbled back to shore. Laying her gently down in the warm sand of Galatea Bay, he dropped down to straddle her. He gazed into eyes wide with wonder and love, eyes that mirrored his own feelings. Deirdre spread her legs and reached up to clasp her husband by the neck, silently urging him to enter. War had too long separated them, and now its demands had once more brought them together. The echoes of their lovemaking rolled like thunder across the dimension that Daniel Graystone had accidentally discovered so long before, and that Clarice Willow, Tamara Adama and Zoe Graystone had subsequently claimed as their own.

"What's the matter? Can't your Eight satisfy you?" Deirdre was laughing now, her happiness complete. She was teasing her husband, but not maliciously. It was just so good to hold him in her arms.

"Ah, the joys of polygamy," John enthused. "In the good old days, on Aquaria a sailor with my ruggedly handsome looks, keen intellect, rakish sense of humor and gift for clever repartee would have had a girl in every port." He paused to kiss his hybrid wife deeply. "But this is the age of interstellar travel, and so I am blessed instead with a beautiful and incredibly erotic wife in two dimensions. It doesn't get any better than this."

"Ruggedly handsome is a bit of a stretch," Deirdre deadpanned as she groped between her legs, "but you have other endowments that more than compensate for your humdrum appearance. Trust me … I know!"

"Been … uh … taking my measure, have you," John laughed.

"I am the eyes and ears of a baseship filled with sex crazed Cylons and humans," Deirdre gleefully pointed out. "And nothing escapes my notice, not even in the dark! Oh, yes, husband of mine … rest assured that you more than measure up!"

"Mmm … it's good to know that I can still hold my own," John purred. "Now, the only question remaining is … how big an audience have we attracted?"

"Our entire fleet has come to a halt somewhere in the great, galactic beyond. Lust is flowing copiously through the data stream. The Twos enter with dread and trepidation …"

"'Lust is flowing copiously'?" John looked at her suspiciously. "Sweetheart, when did you start reading pornography?"

"The humans call it 'smut', and I've been watching, not reading. Some of their videos are truly educational. There's one called _The Five Hundred Acts of Love_. I really want to try position number ninety-seven. It's simple, really. All we need is a wall … and somewhat lighter gravity."

"Both can be easily arranged …"

"We'll save it for another day." With a gentle nudge, Deirdre rolled her husband onto his back, and mounted him. "Right now, all I want to do is make love. No frills, nothing exotic … I just want to feel you inside me."

. . .

The wireless buzzed twice, and Racetrack picked up the phone. She listened intently, frowned, and then hung up. "Angela reports that there's still no sign of activity in our rear. She's been out there for six hours, Commander."

Deep in thought, Natalie Six silently pursed her lips. She had a decision to make. "And we've had a Heavy Raider ranging ahead of us for the past three hours," she said, thinking out loud. "My sister also reports negative contact. What do you think, Margaret? Is it possible that the Cavils have detected us without giving away their own position?"

"It's possible," Racetrack conceded. "A dozen Raiders could hide inside the fringes of the stellar drift, and our DRADIS would never spot them. A deep crater on one of the larger asteroids we've passed would also provide effective concealment. If they're determined not to be found, we won't find them."

"But Angela's flying the original Blackbird," Louis Hoshi protested, "and Galen's stealth ship is still invisible to everything except the naked eye. If Cavil's got Raiders trailing in our wake, the odds are good that by now the Eight would have located them. No … we should go on the assumption that we've still got this rift all to ourselves. The Major needs to step up his game."

. . .

"Report," Adama barked as he stepped into the CIC.

Sonja Six turned away from the DRADIS console just long enough to take the measure of the admiral's mood. She had plenty of news to convey, but little that qualified as good.

"We have two Raptors stationed above the poles, and I've tasked an entire squadron of Vipers to sweep the planet. I'm concentrating the search in areas that we've already mapped, especially the ones with dense vegetation and fresh water. It is logical to assume that my sister extracted these coordinates from the data stream, and is acting upon the information. I've ordered our pilots to begin in the most remote regions, and to work their way systematically back towards the settlement."

"It's like looking for a needle in a haystack," the admiral sighed, "a needle that may have already vanished."

"She's here, Admiral." The cylon XO continued to study the DRADIS display, but on this point she was absolutely sure of her footing. "The pregnancy has made her risk averse. She's not going anywhere until they've taken on enough food and water to allow them to maximize their Heavy Raider's full fuel load. Six appreciates how barren the galaxy really is. It will come down to a choice between the known and the unknown—Kobol or Gemenon to our rear, or heading in towards the core and hoping to find a habitable world before they exhaust their supplies. In the end, it's a simple equation: the more food and water they have, the longer they can remain in deep space."

"And what's the status of our own supply situation?"

"It's deteriorating. The Colonial Workers Alliance is picketing all of the warehouses, and the President refuses to use centurions to break the strike. He doesn't have enough support in the Quorum to issue another declaration of emergency."

"Yeah … we're paying the price for the loss of life in the Sagittaron uprising, and Tom Zarek's made good use of the Enyeto assassination. No one on the Quorum is going to risk a bullet by standing up to the CWA or the Sons of Ares."

"We can hold out for another week, but even with skeleton crews, some of the larger civilian ships will run out of food in less than forty-eight hours. The captains of the _Zephyr_ and _Rising Sun _both contacted me this morning. Even _Cloud Nine _is asking for help."

"And they shall have it. Six, I want you to distribute food across the fleet … enough to get the civvies through the next ninety-six hours. And tell our pilots out there to start looking for meat on the hoof. If we can eat it, their orders are to shoot it."

"Yes, Sir; and do you want me to order the Eights on the baseship to increase the production of our synthetic protein?"

Adama winced. He had forced himself to sample the chemical stew that passed for emergency rations on a cylon baseship, and the memory was still vivid enough to make him gag. If the Six and her Sagittaron husband were reduced to eating twigs and grass, theirs would still be the more preferable alternative.

"No … not yet; we'll have a riot on our hands if the civilians are reduced to eating your protein bars."

"Personally, Sir, I prefer the soup." Sonja smiled sympathetically at the admiral. "As long as we don't run out of pepper, it's not so bad."

"For the time being, Sonja, I'll take your word for it." Adama smiled at her in return. He was genuinely fond of the Six, and not merely because she was Shelly's sister. Sonja was beautiful, intelligent, hard-working—and her deepening relationship with Alexander Phillips had softened the rough edges and gifted her with a subtle sense of humor.

Sonja picked up a star chart, and spread it out on the DRADIS console. She pointed to four small X's that had not been there at the end of Adama's last shift.

"There's one piece of good news, Admiral. Our pilots have plotted four more sets of emergency jump coordinates. You can fix the rendezvous with your wife's Heavy Raider at intervals of one light year along either of these two courses." She tapped one of them lightly with a pencil. "The Raptors have extended this one out to a distance of seven light years."

Bill nodded … this was good news indeed. "I want the crews to start conducting spectral analyses of the surrounding drift," he ordered. "We need to find weak spots … places where the EMP and radiation are sufficient to mask our signature, but not so strong that they'll fry our electronics and kill our crew. If the Cavils ever do show up, we'll need a good place to hide."

. . .

Eric Lackey was standing in the shallows, but he was being buffeted by waves that threatened to sweep him off his feet. It was a constant struggle to maintain his balance, and to keep his grip on the makeshift fishing pole that had already served him well.

Six waded out to stand behind him. The sunlight on New Caprica was not particularly intense, but they had both been exposed to it for a long time, and their skins had darkened considerably. The blond Cylon was certain that she was the first copy of her model to achieve a tan, an idea that she found perversely amusing.

Six caressed the taut muscles in her husband's shoulders, and licked her lips with anticipation as she ran her fingers down his arms. Eric had always been incredibly handsome, but he was leaner now, and stronger, in a wiry sort of way. He had mastered all the secrets of her body, and his stamina, even by cylon standards, was impressive. Their lovemaking never failed to satisfy.

"We need to start a fire," he said without turning around. "I want you to dig a pit in the sand, fill it with kindling, and set it ablaze. We'll wrap the fish in leaves, and bury them in the ash. Even without refrigeration, smoked fish will remain safe to eat for a long time."

"I'm on it," Six replied. Eric had landed three fish while she had been busy prizing something that vaguely resembled an oyster out of the rocks that dominated the coastline. "And I've found more of those berries that we were harvesting on the mainland. There are also some grasses here that I think we can eat after we boil them."

"Sweetheart," Eric laughed, "we'll make a Sagittaron out of you yet." Then he turned serious. "What about water?"

"There's a spring in the center of the island, with water so pure and cold that we don't even have to boil it. But how are we going to store it? We inherited two canteens, which were already full. I'm using the medical kit, and a couple of canisters that were housing ammunition. But that's it, and it's not nearly enough. We need buckets … a barrel … _something … anything_!"

"I hear you. Tell you what. Tomorrow, we'll explore the island; maybe we'll get lucky, and find something that we can use."

"And if we don't?"

"There's always plan B."

"Which is?"

"We pay a nocturnal visit to the settlement, and steal what we need."

. . .

"Beginning DRADIS eleven sweep," Athena called out.

"Beginning DRADIS twelve sweep," Ponytail acknowledged.

The pilot and the ECO waited while the Raptor's electronic suite scanned the moon for signs of water. The gas giant had two dozen moons altogether, although fully half of them were asteroids that had got close enough to be captured by the planet's gravity well.

"_Frak_," Deitra cursed. "I've got nothing and … you guessed it … more nothing."

"Same here; I've got zilch as well." Athena shook her head in frustration.

"Well, that's it, boss. We've scanned six moons, or should I say … six great, big hunks of nothing."

"Maybe it's the equipment," Athena sarcastically countered. "Maybe there's a restaurant out here at the frakkin' end of the universe, and we just can't see it because our electronics are all frakked up!"

"A lemonade stand would be nice," Deitra sighed. "There was this place on Picon …"

"You can't make lemonade without water," Athena interrupted, "and just in case you've lost count, we've only found water in one system since we left New Caprica. How did the thirteenth tribe survive out here? They were refugees, fleeing a holocaust; they couldn't have been that well supplied. And it's a long way back to Kobol."

"Yeah … I've wondered about that. Anders says that they spent forty years in the wilderness. I don't care how good their purification system was; that's a long time to be drinking your own piss."

"Make a log entry, Lieutenant: negative water contact on DRADIS sweeps eleven and twelve. Stand by for orbital insertion around moon seven."

The two pilots returned to their duties, and less than twenty minutes later, prepared to start the routine all over again.

"Beginning DRADIS thirteen sweep," Athena called out.

"Beginning DRADIS fourteen sweep," Ponytail acknowledged.

. . .

"_Increasing nitrogen concentration by 1.8%; scrubbers on deck 17 are offline for scheduled maintenance. Oxygen levels are nominal. Carbon dioxide levels are nominal. End of line. All external sensor arrays are degraded; fifty centurions are EVA for emergency repairs. WARNING! All external sensor arrays have entered failure mode. Failure within four minutes is projected. . . ."_

"This is great … just frakking great," Cavil growled. "We're searching for a needle in a haystack, and now we're going blind. Gee, I've never had so much fun!"

"Relax, brother," another Cavil soothed. "This was all to be expected. It's the stellar drift. The nebula is a gigantic dust cloud, and the dust aggregates are magnetized. We're sucking them in, and they're continually fouling the sensor arrays. Plus, the charged ion particles around here are making a mess of everything. It doesn't matter. As long as we have Raiders, we have eyes."

"And how long will it be before the Raiders start to conk out," Cavil retorted skeptically. Inherently pessimistic, this particular One had long ago soured on his younger brother's notoriously sunny disposition. He was convinced that the road to victory was littered with a string of inevitable disasters.

"We're rotating them at forty minute intervals, and the centurions are scrubbing the exhaust manifolds and thermal induction ports with their customary efficiency. Everything's going according to plan."

"Yeah, yeah, everything's great … unless, of course, our whole approach to the problem is half ass backwards."

"Well, there is that," the younger Cavil reluctantly conceded. He looked maliciously at his elder brother. "Of course, if you really feel this strongly about it," he continued, "you could always call for a meeting. Everyone will undoubtedly be thrilled to entertain yet another alternative plan. Surely the fifty that we've rejected so far haven't exhausted the possibilities."

"The hybrid is losing focus," Six interrupted. "It's concentrating on mechanical issues rather than feeding us useful intelligence. We need to get its head back in the game. Do you two geniuses have anything constructive to offer?"

"I'm fresh out of ideas, Six," the younger Cavil cheerfully confessed. "But they say that age breeds wisdom, so big brother here should be able to point the way." Cavil once again looked maliciously at Cavil.

"The answer's obvious," Cavil said impatiently; "give the frakkin' machine a good, hard kick in the ass."

Six rolled her eyes in disgust. She longed for the good, old days, when she had been teamed with one of the overseer Fives back on Caprica. Aaron had been all business, never losing sight of the objective, never surrendering to these infantile outbursts of all too human emotion that so defined the Ones.

_Hooking the human females up to the birthing machines, seeing the horror in their eyes, listening to them beg. That was good. And beating the crap out of Kara Thrace: that was better still—almost as good as rearranging Sharon's face. Doral couldn't see that the bitch had already turned traitor, but I knew … I knew! Helo should have been my project, not hers! The Eight series has always been weak, unreliable. Helo is very handsome. I would have made him love me, given him a child. He's so alive!_

"The last time I looked," Six commented with just the right note of contempt in her voice, "the hybrid doesn't have an ass. So, just how do you propose to kick that which does not exist?"

"It doesn't matter. You wanna get its attention? Then slap it up one side and down the other. Or try sticking your tongue down its throat. I don't care what you do, so long as you get results."

_Maybe I should steal a Heavy Raider and make a run for it, _Six thought. Her sense of despair was near total. _If I can find the humans, I can negotiate a deal … amnesty and asylum in return for telling them what the Ones are up to. Now, how can I get D'Anna and Mara off this ship?_

. . .

"So, what's the word, Doc?"

Adama had his back turned to the President. He was busy pouring each of them a stiff drink.

"I believe, Admiral," Baltar stiffly remarked, "that the appropriate term is 'Mister President'."

"Heh, that's funny," Bill chuckled. "I didn't think that the President of the Colonies wanted to get anywhere near this particular project. Engaging in crimes against sentience might damage his public reputation."

"Very funny, Admiral … very funny indeed." Gaius accepted the proffered drink, and resumed restlessly pacing around Adama's quarters. "Well, if you must know, the project's complete. Medusa is the perfect biological weapon—one hundred percent lethality, but we can keep infected Cylons alive indefinitely. Their immune system attacks the vaccine and breaks it down, but it takes seventy-two hours for it to clear the cylon circulatory system. The pattern never varies, so as long as we inject them every sixty-six hours, they've got nothing to worry about."

"And you're sure that the disease will download, even with the vaccine in place?"

"The Fours are sure, Admiral; kill the carriers within range of a resurrection ship, and it will be fatally contaminated. It would be best, of course, to execute prisoners who think that they are recovering from the disease. They will be less likely to sound the alarm, which will give Medusa time to spread through the entire resurrection network. Once it takes hold, there'll be no stopping it."

"Leaving us with the only functioning resurrection ships in the universe," Adama concluded. A light smile played across his lips. "Game, set, and match." He downed his whiskey in one satisfying gulp, and reached for the decanter. This was a moment to celebrate.

"Game, set and match," Gaius quietly agreed.

"I've got Raptors out looking for places in the drift where we can hide a ship." Adama took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and didn't bother to conceal it. "I'll need ten prisoners. We'll give each the vaccine, but we'll stage the injections at six hour intervals. That way, there'll always be a couple of Ones and Fives in whom the virus is well advanced. If the Cavils come back, we jump in, execute them all, and jump out. Once they've lost their safety net, those bastards will back off. They'll back way, way off!"

"And what happens to our people on the surface, Admiral? Medusa doesn't discriminate. Once it's unleashed, every Two, Three, Four, Six or Eight who dies down there will acquire the disease with his or her download. Please keep in mind that we are talking terminal death, and that lymphocytic encephalitis is not a pretty way to die."

"They'll have to take their chances," Adama shrugged. "It might be smart for them to commit mass suicide while our own resurrection ship is still in orbit. Otherwise, they'll have to do whatever it takes to stay alive."

"So … what am I supposed to do here … issue a public pronouncement that every Cylon should carry poison on their person at all times, and be prepared to use it at a moment's notice?" The incredulous look on Baltar's face said it all. This was, without a doubt, the most surreal conversation that he had ever had, and considering what went on in the hybrid's chamber, that was really saying something.

"And what kind of reprisals do you think the Cavils will inflict on the human population," Baltar continued. "This is a scorched Sagittaron policy if ever I saw one. They might well kill us all."

"If the Cavils find New Caprica, Mister President, believe me, dying's going to be the least of your worries." Adama stared long and hard at Gaius Baltar while he slowly finished his whiskey.

. . .

Tom Zarek leaned back in his chair, an enigmatic smile on his lips, and allowed the cacophony of noise to caress the edges of his conscious mind. Shutting out unwanted sights and sounds was a technique that he had cultivated in prison, and it served him well at every meeting of the Quorum. The meaningless hue and cry, the empty posturing of the delegates—a less disciplined mind would have lost patience with such nonsense, but Tom Zarek never allowed the righteous anger that inflamed his soul to disturb the placid expression on his face. Still, he kept score … he had always been good at keeping score. They were all fools, every single one of them, but the biggest fools of all were the ones who had had the temerity to cross him. And eventually they would pay. Roslin, Adama … all the selfish and greedy fools who opposed the people's will would one day find themselves standing in front of a firing squad.

"I for one am losing patience with the strikers," Alisander Asiel declared. Or so Zarek guessed: Aerilon's delegate spoke with such a heavy accent that the Vice-President often had to guess at the content of his sentences—and in this case he really wasn't paying much attention.

"Oh, their grievances are real enough- my esteemed colleague from Canceron is quite right on that point, the conditions in our factories are appalling- but our agricultural workers labor just as hard and with just as little compensation, and you do not hear the men and women of Aerilon threatening to go out on strike in order to extort better housing and hot and cold running water. We recognize that it takes time to build a new world, and that our first priority must be the sick and the elderly, and widows with small children. . . ."

_Alisander's going to drone on for a while,_ Tom thought. _And when he finally runs down, our new delegate from Tauron will demand the floor so that she can toss in her two cubits …_

Zarek studied Maria Lucretia Dahlia, the middle-aged female whom Enzo Carlotti had hand-picked to replace the late, lamented Perah Enyeto, out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't especially good looking, but rumor had it that she had profited mightily from the untimely demise of not one but two husbands. The Sons of Ares had nicknamed Lucretia the Black Dahlia, and Tom knew that it wasn't her penchant for wearing widow's weeds that his gangster friends had in mind.

The Vice-President subtly shifted his attention to Sharon Baltar and Wallace Gray, who were seated side by side. If the Cylon was the de facto president of the Colonies, the colorless bureaucrat at her side was not only the architect of New Caprica's economic policies but also the proverbially indispensable man. Three people kept the settlement running, and there was no way to separate Billy Keikeya and the newly minted Tory Baltar from their allegiance to the regime. But the whole point of the strike, which Zarek had emphasized to Enzo Carlotti, was to turn Wally Gray into a political liability that the Baltars would be forced to dump in exactly the same way that Laura Roslin had jettisoned him when Zarek was poised to steal the vice-presidency. Xeno Fenner and the Colonial Workers Alliance had eagerly taken the bit between their teeth, but frustratingly, the Baltars had yet to get the message. Zarek knew that the gray man was patiently waiting for his turn to speak, so that he could lay out another ridiculous eight point plan to get the factories open. And in her husband's absence, Sharon would encourage the farce every step of the way.

"Will the delegate from Aerilon yield?" Right on cue, Lucretia Dahlia was on her feet. Zarek knew that she was going to defend the CWA, and in the process declare political war on Gaius Baltar. The President had already lost Sarah Porter and the Gemenese, and now he was about to discover that Tauron had also turned decisively against him. Unless he threw Wallace Gray to the wolves, he would no longer command the loyalty of a majority of the Quorum. But if he fed Gray to the sharks, the economy would implode. The Sons of Ares would find new ways to profit from the ensuing chaos, and Tom Zarek would be one step closer to the presidency.

. . .

"Welcome, Lee; please come in." Caprica Six stepped to the side, and with a graceful gesture invited Apollo to enter her apartment.

"Thank you, Caprica … and thank you for inviting me into your home. I never realized that we lived in the same building."

"I don't draw attention to my private life, Lee. It's better that way, better … and safer."

"I understand … I know exactly where you're coming from." Standing in the living room, Lee took in the tiny kitchenette and dining room in a single glance. The few pieces of furniture were utilitarian, and there was no clutter. There were no photographs or other mementoes, nothing that would in fact personally connect Caprica Six to a unit that was physically indistinguishable from all the others around it. The living space had the impersonal feel of a mid-grade hotel room, but there were no clothes or personal effects lying about, no dirty dishes in the sink or unwashed glasses on the kitchen counter. A narrow hall off to the right gave access to a small bathroom, and an adjoining bedroom. Lee somehow knew without looking that the bathroom counter would be empty of the cosmetics and lipsticks that had marked off this most intimate of spaces as his mother's private dominion. He also knew without looking that Caprica's clothes would be neatly folded and stored in the drawers of a lone bedroom dresser, or gracing the hangers in her closet. It would not have surprised him to learn that all of the hangers were facing the same way.

"Would you like something to drink? I do have alcohol."

"No, uh … no, thanks; Creusa says that the smell of alcohol on my breath makes her sick, so I'm trying to give it up. Some days are easier than others."

With a quiet smile, Caprica opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of white wine. She poured a small glass, and took a tiny sip. "Gaius has an educated palate," she casually remarked; "and he is remarkably knowledgeable about wine. He turned me into something of an oenophile. It was one of my few indulgences." Caprica walked to the couch, smoothed her skirt, and sat down with an elegant flourish. She gestured for Lee to join her. "So, what is this all about?"

"My father," Apollo replied as he dropped down beside her. "He told me things, and he let me have access to a contact report that really bothered him. I think he wants me to ask you a lot of questions about Ghostrider … about Major Bierns."

"It's all ancient history, Lee; why would either of you bother?"

"It's about the Eights … about the fact that they're not having children. Caprica, we had a terrible fight with the Tighs, up on _Galactica_. I thought Ellen was going to claw my father's eyes out, she was so angry. Dad insists that the whole plan has gone wrong, but Ellen doesn't see it … maybe … maybe, she refuses to see it. But dad's right. Walking over here, for the first time I really looked at what was going on all around me … how ordinary it is to see Eights moving around the settlement, so many of them with a boyfriend or even a husband in tow. Half of them should be pregnant, but they're not. Dad … he told me that his gut was screaming at him, telling him that we've got to turn back to the past, all the way back to the Colonies. He says that in order to find out what's gone wrong, we've gotta first figure out what it was that was going right. And it all has something to do with Bierns … with the two of you. My father is right, Caprica; you and John, you were there in the beginning. You've got the answers. If we've gone off the rails, the two of you are the only people who can tell us when and why. If we can get over those two hurdles, then we'll have a shot at figuring out _how_ it all went wrong, and give ourselves a chance to get the plan back on track."

"You're giving me far too much credit, Lee. Yes, it's true that I was there at the beginning; Project Diaspora was actually laid out late one night in my apartment. But the CSS was like a honeycomb. Information was compartmentalized … everything was strictly 'need to know'. It wasn't that Harlan and John didn't trust me; it was just the way that the agency operated. Remember, I was working in a climate where paranoia was considered a virtue."

"So, why don't you begin at the beginning? How did you and John first meet?"

Caprica let out a long sigh. This was not a story that she liked to share with others. "I seduced him, I drugged him, and I smuggled him out of the Colonies … to a baseship waiting just beyond the Armistice Line. With the exception of one strike force, which was concentrated for the attacks on Picon and Caprica, our ships were all spread out, Lee. It was five months before the attacks, and we had you completely encircled. Cavil's attack plan made us vulnerable, and we were desperate to discover how much you knew. A ranking CSS officer, especially one who had the President's ear—John was a glittering prize that we just couldn't refuse. The knowledge that he carried inside his head could put all of our doubts to rest, or cause us to modify our plans. He was one of the five most important people in the Colonies, and yet he behaved so recklessly."

Thinking about it, Caprica shook her head in disbelief. "The men we occasionally captured on the fringes of the Armistice Zone—they were all hardened criminals, the kind of people no one would miss. But when we questioned these murderers and cutthroats, and John's name came up? He was the Lord High Executioner, and the mere mention of his name sufficed to bring their fears crawling to the surface. You could see it in their eyes … you could almost taste it in the air, their fear was so palpable. Did you know that John once landed on an asteroid that was only three kilometers from the Armistice Line? It was rich in tylium, and a Canceron crime syndicate had set up an illegal mining operation. We were watching the whole time. There were more than fifty very tough people on that asteroid. John went in by himself, and he took the operation down. The miners never stood a chance. We looked for survivors; there weren't any."

"My gods," Lee whispered. "The way he executed Eric Phelan … John's so … so soft-spoken … I thought it was an aberration. Do you mean to tell me that he's been going around killing people like that _for years_?"

"Inside the CSS," Caprica pointed out with a light smile, "the preferred expression was 'terminate with extreme prejudice'. And yes, your presidents dumped one dirty job after another in John's lap. And suddenly, he was ours, body and soul. Of course, it never occurred to me, or to anyone else, that he was a yawning trap just waiting to swallow us whole. My brothers and sisters were supposed to torture him, drain him dry, and then let the centurions have him for target practice. You know how that turned out."

"Yeah," Apollo grimaced; "every human who's old enough to walk knows that particular story."

"So, imagine my surprise when I returned home five weeks later, after spending a pleasant evening frakking Gaius Baltar, to find John sitting on my couch—John, Harlan Berriman, and a Three. It took less than twenty minutes for them to convert me into a double agent. The four of us began laying out the details for Diaspora on the spot, although it later became obvious that John and Richard Adar had been planning the exodus for a long time."

"Did you know that the CSS was altering interplanetary shipping lanes, and bringing ships in by the thousands for unscheduled maintenance? Dad says that the Admiralty saw this massive operation unfolding throughout the Colonies, but no one could figure out what it meant."

"Yes, Lee, I knew, although only in the most general terms. So, Admiral Nagala saw what was happening, but chose to keep quiet about it. That's interesting … and something that I didn't know."

_And there was so much happening that you don't know about, Lee … all those conferences, with all expenses paid for the participants, that were going on all over Libran's southern hemisphere on D Day. We brought in the best and the brightest, and we saved them all. How I wish I could tell you about the Ark … about Atlantis, and the libraries that we salvaged, the museums whose finest paintings and artifacts are even now on their way to a new home, far beyond the reach of the Cavils. The burden you carry would be so much easier to bear if only you knew that cylon and human had already become a single people, and that they will rebuild the Colonies not on the Earth of your imagination but on the real Earth. How I wish I could tell you that Earth is not so much a place as it is a state of mind … that you arrive there every time that you sweep my sister into your arms. Oh, Lee, there is so much that I want to tell you … but I can't, not when the Cavils still hound us. And there is so much of the truth that you must never learn—that you're bait, meant to lure the Ones to their doom, while Deirdre leads our people to their salvation. . . ._

"How many people did know what was going on, Caprica? I mean, for starters, how many people inside the CSS knew about you?"

"Quite a few … Harlan, and Marcus- Marcus Greene was the Chief of Staff—and Erika Waldstein and her team of behavioral psychologists. John mentored me. He was the best field agent in the history of the Colonies … how could he not be? Lee, John is on the upper end of the human scale in everything—intelligence, strength, endurance, reflexes …"

"Just like Kara's the best pilot anyone's ever seen," Lee murmured.

"Exactly. Our children are not simply the next step in cylon evolution; they are also the next step in human evolution. You may not want to hear this, Lee, but your daughter is going to outstrip both of her parents."

"No, no, that's good," Apollo protested. "Every parent wants their child to be the best."

"John put me through a crash course on elementary tradecraft. He called it Spook 101," Caprica said with a laugh. "But he was drowning in work, and Erika needed a lot of my time. She was reconfiguring my personality matrix, and teaching me how to beat the stream. It's the ultimate lie detector, Lee, and Erika wanted to bring me to the point where I could not only withhold information during a download, but introduce disinformation into the network. We did get there, but it wasn't easy."

"So, what were Bierns and Adar up to during the last months?" Lee's frustration was mounting by the second but at least the conversation was heading generally where he wanted it to go. "Come on, Caprica, you've got to know more than you've given me so far! What the hell was going on?"

"John was playing God, Lee; isn't that obvious? It's just as you say. He was prepping the civilian ships that we needed for the exodus, and at the very end he altered the shipping lanes in order to keep them safe from Cavil's Raiders. Only, there was a lot more going on … a lot more. He was manipulating crew rosters and passenger manifests … making sure that certain people … people like Laura Roslin … were out of the line of fire. He was desperate to get more women of child-bearing age into space, which blinded him to the fact that he was literally deciding who was going to live, and who was going to die. And Marcus … Marcus was working just as frantically—resupplying Ragnar anchorage and the depot in the asteroid belt … caching food, medicine, fuel and ammunition all over the twelve worlds to sustain the survivors. That was my job, remember? I was supposed to sow dissension within the collective, and organize the surviving human population into an effective resistance. I did my job."

"And on the eve of the attacks … all those rumors that Roslin was peddling before Shelly defected, about how Baltar gave you access to the defense mainframe and you brought the whole network down from within. Was she right? Did Gaius sell out the human race?"

"Don't be silly, Lee. What would possess a man … any man … knowingly to participate in the wholesale extermination of his entire species?"

"But he did give you access, didn't he? I don't hear you denying it."

"He did … on President Adar's direct orders."

"Gods, this is frakking unbelievable! My father's hunch … he said that his gut kept telling him that all of this … that it only makes sense if Baltar's CSS, and the whole frakkin' war is some kind of convoluted scheme to bring your people home!"

"He's right, Lee, but only partially so. This is Cavil's war. John persuaded Harlan and Richard to hijack it, and they didn't put up much of a resistance. Anyone with half a brain could see that the Colonies were doomed. You didn't have enough battlestars to go on the offensive, but even when you pulled back you couldn't defend your worlds against an orbital nuclear attack. Diaspora had the highest probability estimate for success, but only because one cylon baseship defected. Its Raiders cordoned off a huge volume of space, and Admiral Nagala unknowingly bought us the time that we needed to push scores of civilian ships into the net. Or did you think that their survival was simply a matter of good luck? Come on, Lee; luck is how you humans account for positive outcomes in the face of inadequate preparation. Luck had nothing to do with the creation of this fleet."

"And that's it?" Apollo was beginning to get angry. "The analysts decided that ninety-nine percent of humanity had to die so that I would fall in love with a Cylon and give her a child? That was the ultimate sales pitch, wasn't it? I don't care how tactically indefensible the Colonies were; Adar would have been out of his mind to go along with this crap unless he had an iron-clad guarantee that humans and Cylons could have kids."

"John and Kara offered Richard all the proof that he needed, and no one on the baseship ever questioned the memories that John poured into its stream. You weren't there, Lee … that night, in my apartment. D'Anna was positively glowing. Her love for her son, her pride in all that he had accomplished … she was a new person. And when she talked about what she had seen in the stream—the three models all giving birth, the Eights never failing to become pregnant … she had no doubts, Lee … none … whatsoever."

"And that brings us full circle, doesn't it? The Eights are supposed to be the salvation of us all, only it's not happening. Something's gone wrong, just like my father says." Lee's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And you're hiding something."

"I'm hiding lots of things,"Caprica candidly admitted, "and most of them are for your own good."

"Right, sure," Lee scoffed, "but I'll be the judge of that. Bierns caught up with the fleet eleven days after the holocaust. He claims that he spent ten days playing footsie with skin jobs and centurions on the surface of Caprica and a couple of other planets, but he never got around to explaining how he was able to move about so freely inside cylon space. What was he really doing, Caprica? What is it that you're hiding?"

"I don't know what he was doing, Lee, and that's the truth. Our paths never crossed."

"And all those cylon facilities that he so casually claims to have penetrated? What was that all about," Apollo pressed, "assuming, of course, that's it's not all a pack of lies."

"I don't know, Lee." Caprica Six gazed calmly at her brother-in-law. The two of them were playing cat and mouse—a game at which any trained agent excelled. And Brandywine had been trained by the best.

"Was he looking for something … maybe something having to do with artificial insemination or gene therapy? Were the Cavils sitting on something that the Eights have to have in order to get pregnant? You know … the cylon equivalent of a fertility pill?"

"Careful, Lee," Caprica warned; "your paranoia is beginning to get the better of you. You sound like a CSS agent who's been out in the field too long … burnt out."

"I know that Sharon Agathon was the bait in a scheme to seduce Helo, and I know that Baltar's Eight was on a baseship that the Cavils controlled. Do you have any idea how suspicious that looks?"

"Lee, this is ridiculous; how would you explain Shelly's pregnancy … or Creusa's? Do you see Ones in your soup?"

"Not Ones, Caprica … I'm looking for a baseship that should be there, but I can't find it." Lee reached inside his coat, and pulled a single, neatly folded sheet of paper out of one of the pockets. The report contained only four paragraphs, but he was convinced that it harbored the truth for which the two Adamas were searching.

"Your First Born made one critical mistake, Caprica. Two hundred and sixty-three jumps: that's how deep we were in the Prolmar Sector when Boomer encountered John's Raptor. How did a short-range reconnaissance craft get so far out and yet still have nearly a full fuel load in its tanks? Dad caught the anomaly at once, and it scared the hell out of him."

Lee dropped the flimsy in Caprica's lap. "Read the third paragraph," he demanded. "Then Commander Adama could come up with only one explanation—that Bierns had hitched a ride on a cylon baseship. He was right, but he got it all wrong. He suspected that your boss was working for the Cylons; frak, he was half convinced that Bierns was a Cylon! How could dad possibly have guessed that it was just the other way round—_that the Cylons were working for Bierns_? There's our missing baseship, Caprica … the one whose fate you have been oh, so careful to steer me away from. And that was your mistake. You're clever—too clever for your own good. You should have anticipated where this was going, and blunted the threat by telling me that Ghostrider's baseship had been destroyed in a skirmish with one of our battlestars. Instead, you said nothing, and that told me exactly what I needed to know."

Apollo abruptly climbed to his feet, and he stared hard at the still seated Cylon. "I don't really care about the baseship, Caprica, but there had to be a _quid pro quo _in place, and we both know what it was. I want to know about the female models on that ship in general and the Eights in particular. How many babies have they produced? Where did we go wrong?"

. . .

**Day 420 of the Exodus**

**The Control Center of the Cylon Baseship Leading the Diaspora Fleet**

**24 Days Rimward of the Algae Planet**

Eve Six removed her hand from the stream, and looked worriedly at her husband. Caleb was gently rocking their infant son in his arms, trying to find the magical cure for a crying jag that had started four hours earlier. Eve was the President of the Colonies, elected with the overwhelming support of both humans and cylons as the successor to the former Defense Minister, Anita Suarez. She took the responsibilities of her office very seriously, but she was first and foremost a wife and mother.

_Cain is not even four months old, so it can't be teething, and he doesn't have a rash. He won't take my teat … he doesn't want to be held … why is he so upset?_

"It's not Deirdre," Eve announced. "Our hybrid is in fine spirits; indeed, at the moment I would judge her to be positively giddy." Throughout the fleet, the moods of the hybrid babies normally mirrored those of their big sister on the baseship. Human and cylon parents alike were still learning how to cope with the fact that their children reacted to one another, and powerfully responded to the "old one," as Leoben liked to call the baseship hybrid.

"She's drunk," the Two observed matter-of-factly.

"Drunk," Aurelia repeated gleefully. Doctor Aurelia Afzelius, who held two Magnate Awards in the field of chemistry, was the President's chief science advisor. Ever since Deirdre had given birth to a daughter in the parallel dimension informally known as V-World, Aurelia had made the hybrid her pet project. A synthetic creature that inhabited a vat of goo on a baseship in one dimension, but lived the life of a happily married housewife in another, was far more than an object of scientific curiosity. Because the hybrid and the baseship were for all intents and purposes one and the same, Deirdre was far and away the most important personality in Aurelia's tiny, little corner of the universe.

"Well," she added, "at least now we know why the fleet is … uh … weaving rather than advancing in a straight line. Should we hook her up to a Breathalyzer?"

"The results would be inconclusive, Doctor." D'Anna was still having trouble with irony; behind her back, Leoben and Eve shared knowing grins. "The problem is one of bleed-through. The hybrid is imbibing alcohol in the other dimension, and she is doing so in sufficient quantity that it is releasing her inhibitions. In both dimensions, the emotional consequences are the same."

"Sister," Eve laughed, "we really have to find you a husband! You badly need the services of a long-haired dictionary!" Eve looked affectionately at her own husband. One night, when their lovemaking had become so intense that the glow from her spine was literally lighting up the room, Caleb Adama had whispered into her ear that he nightly thanked the gods for blessing him with his very own long-haired dictionary. It was a bit of Tauron slang, he had explained; the quickest way to learn to speak Gemenese, or to probe the mysteries of the Gemenese culture, was simply to marry someone from Gemenon. Eve had been so delighted by the compliment that she had passed it on to others, and because so many Sixes and Eights wore their hair long, the expression had spread across the fleet like wildfire. Then someone had commented that long hair was currently in fashion among human males, and the colorful phrase had rebounded. Now, it applied indiscriminately to Cylons and humans alike.

"Uh, does anyone happen to know _why_ Deirdre is getting plastered?" Caleb had to speak loudly to be heard over his son's screaming. The noise reminded him of the sound the cat had made when, at the age of eight, he had run its tail through the blender. It had been simple curiosity on his part, really, but that was the day he had definitively learned that you couldn't pass everything off as a scientific experiment. His parents had been seriously pissed, and the resultant spanking had condemned him to sleeping on his stomach for the next four nights. "And does anyone know what we should expect in the way of a hangover?"

"It's obviously party time at Galatea Bay," Aurelia shrugged. "But I wouldn't worry too much about the hangover—not if Laura Roslin drops by."

"Uh, oh," Anita Suarez groaned; "I forgot about that. She and Adar probably smoked more pot than the rest of the Cabinet put together."

"You're joking, right?" Caleb looked back and forth between the two women, but he couldn't tell whether they were being serious or not. "I mean, after all, Deirdre at her most lucid is pretty loopy. If she gets high on both alcohol and drugs …"

"We may encounter things in the stream that we've never seen before," Leoben grinned.

. . .

"Let's stop here," Leoben suggested. Without waiting for a reply, he threw himself down in the sand, rolled onto his back, cradled his neck in his hands, and stared contentedly up at the luminescent sky.

Laura Roslin dropped down beside him, but before settling in to partake of her favorite after school ritual, she had first to reach into her pocket and extract one of her special cigarettes. She lit up, pulled the pungent smoke deep into her lungs, and then passed the toke to her favorite Cylon. Leoben took a hit, and then silently passed it back to her.

"Leo, have I ever apologized for wanting to airlock you," she asked. Laura released a long, slow, relaxed breath. The late afternoon was her favorite time of the day on New Caprica. The sky was like a softly glowing carpet.

"More than once," he replied. "Have I ever apologized for invading your dreams?"

"My wet dreams," she corrected. "You have no idea how many times you've made love to me in my dreams, and I can't even begin to describe how good the sex is."

"It's my projection, Laura, but you're right. In the stream, there's nothing to distinguish virtual sex from physical intercourse. They're equally real."

"Remind me to thank Kara Thrace for the blood donation," Laura chortled. "All those cylon doohickeys floating around in my bloodstream not only cured my cancer, they also let me share your projections. By the way, how is the stream tonight? Are there any new eddies or currents to interest us?"

"Zenobia's in a snit. "I don't think she's getting enough. Baltar needs to visit her more often."

"Ah, the universal dirge," Laura said knowingly. "For the female of the species, there's no such thing as enough. But I'm a politician. I can be bribed. For a price, I'd be willing to share." Laura reached out blindly, and began to knead the hard muscles in Leoben's stomach. "Threesomes can be fun."

Leoben rolled on top of Laura, and pinned her shoulders to the yielding ground. He kissed her savagely, just as he always did in her dreams. "I don't like to share," he grunted, "but then I have millions of brothers. The really nice thing about being human is that you get to be selfish. The collective is a real drag."

. . .

"_Whee,"_ Deirdre screamed as she pirouetted one more time, the champagne flute held high above her head. _"I love champagne!" _Miraculously, she had somehow managed not to spill a single drop. _"It's almost as good as sex! This is Heaven!"_

"_I want sex," _Cassandra yelled, _"and I want it now! Sex! Sex! Sex!" _The youngest of all the hybrids, Cassie was pounding the coffee table with her open palm to drive her point home. She paused to pick up a bottle of the ice-cold, rare and incredibly expensive twenty year old Leonis Private Label that in V-world was as commonplace as sand on a beach, tilted it to her lips, and allowed the chilled nectar to course down her throat. She had never been drunk before, and like so many before her, was in the process of discovering that sobriety was vastly overrated.

"Wait your turn," Olivia growled. Depending upon one's point of view, she was either on the bottom of the latest _ménage-a-trois_, or somewhere out in front. In reality, she was down on all fours, her right cheek pressing down hard against the cushions of the oversized chair. Pelea was awkwardly perched on her back, her legs wrapped tight around John's neck, and her hands reaching out blindly to steady herself against the heavily padded arms of the chair. For his part, John was busily engaged in double duty. He was servicing both of his sisters simultaneously, and like so many before him, had already begun to discover that after the first hour or so cunnilingus became really hard on the jaw.

Pelea was almost there. She was bouncing up and down on her sister's back, pressing her engorged clitoris against John's tongue. This was going to be her first orgasm, and she wanted it to be one for the ages. Her thighs had his head pinned firmly in place; she was a charging piston, and the juices that lubricated her brother's tongue were the only thing required to keep her motor running.

_When the garden flowers, baby, are dead …_

Reun loved this song! She took another drag on the smoldering weed, pulling the pungent smoke with its wonderfully hallucinogenic trace chemical deep into her lungs. She could feel the hallucinogen beginning to enter her blood stream, working its way through her body, and heightening all of her senses. The song that had tantalized her for so long, the lyric stealing across the horizon from some unexplored corner of this mysterious dimension, the relentless pulse of it beckoning to her oh, so softly on the gentle winds of Galatea Bay, was now blowing full into her face at gale strength. And yet, it wasn't loud enough! She staggered over to the entertainment system, and turned up the volume another twenty decibels. . . .

_YES, AND YOUR MIND, YOUR MIND IS SO FULL OF RED …_

"_The colors," _she screamed over the top of the music, _"the walls are bleeding … with the colors!" _With majestic calm, she watched as the blood that had been pooling on the floor began to work its way up the walls.

She took another drag on the weed.

A fountain suddenly began to grow out of the wall, drenching the room in a kaleidoscope of purples and pinks, yellows and greens.

_YOUR EYES, I SAY YOUR EYES MAY LOOK LIKE HIS, YEAH BUT IN YOUR HEAD, BABY, I'M AFRAID YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE IT IS. . . ._

"_I love this song! It's so me!"_

. . .

Natalie gingerly removed her hand from the stream, and with great reluctance, looked around at the other Cylons in the control room. She had a sinking feeling that she already knew what was going to come next.

"Should I be concerned that our hybrid is, as the humans are wont to say, 'higher than a kite'? As I recall, the purpose of this exercise is to draw the Ones' attention, not allow them to destroy us without a fight."

"Do not concern yourself, sister," Leoben smugly replied. "Hallucination is a hybrid's natural state of being. If you would explore the darker recesses of the stream, swim in the twilight zone that lies between reason and insanity, you would know this to be true."

"The drug has allowed Reun to become one with God," D'Anna added. She pitied the Six for her narrow-minded understanding of reality.

"But Two always says that to know the face of God is to know madness," Natalie protested. "Do we want this ship to be under the control of a creature that has gone mad?"

"Chaos is the natural order of things, the very core of God's plan for us all. This is something that your model has never comprehended." D'Anna sighed—the sigh of one who has had patiently to endure the stupidity of others for far too long. "Six, have you learned nothing from your interaction with the humans?"

"The Old One's senses are keener now than they have ever been before." Leoben's fingers played delicately across the surface of the stream; the barest touch now sufficed. "The slightest disturbance, the merest ripple, will draw her attention."

"Her attention, yes," Natalie agreed. "But will she react in time to save this ship when it is under attack?" Exasperation was clearly beginning to get the better of her.

"It is a matter of no particular consequence," D'Anna loftily observed. "My son will save us all, and your daughter will lead us home."

. . .

"I feel like this ship is flying around in circles," Kara groused. She was in her rack, cradled within Athena's arms—her favorite place in the entire universe. "In fact, I'm sure of it: this ship _is_ flying around in circles."

"What's the matter, baby?" Athena kissed her charge lightly on the forehead, which is not exactly where she had been kissing the Second Born ten minutes earlier, but when dealing with the many moods of Kara Thrace Six, the Eight had to be fast on her feet. Kara had had her fill of sex; now, Athena judged, she needed her mother. The Cylon didn't mind Kara's whining—it was good training for the day when the Eight might have to contend with a three year old of her own.

"There isn't enough frakkin' water in this entire galaxy to fill an ice cube tray," Kara complained. "How are we supposed to get an entire fleet of humans and Cylons all the way to Earth?"

"I know, baby, but we did find water in that one system, remember? It's not as bad as you think."

"A planetoid about the size of a beach ball," Kara snorted, "and sitting so close to the hard deck for that damned gas giant that no one had better fall asleep at the switch."

"All true, Kara, but look on the bright side. Those are both good reasons why the Cavils will never find it. That's not a bad trade-off."

"Damn it, I can't afford to look on the bright side! I'm the frakking Guide, remember? I'm God's only begotten daughter or some such crap. Everybody expects me to know where we're going, and the truth is that I haven't got a frakkin' clue!"

"It's all right, baby; really, everything's going to be all right." Athena's voice was calming, and she ran her hand gently up and down Kara's spine. "We are following in the footsteps of our forebears, but there will come a time when we will have to break away and follow a new path. You will know, Kara, because God will send you a sign. It will be unmistakable, and it will erase all your doubts. And then you will lead us to our new home, and we will start over. The cycles will end, and there will at last be peace between man and machine."

. . .

Six ripped her hand away from the stream, and a triumphant look stole across her features.

"_The hybrid's found them! We know exactly where they are!"_


	30. Chapter 30: Hide and Seek

_Author's note: I want to express my thanks to NorJC for allowing me to use Sandra Three, one of the characters in _Pandora's Scions_, in a long scene that is set on Scorpia near the end of this chapter._

CHAPTER 30

HIDE AND SEEK

"Lee, if you're trying to intimidate me, it won't work. You can stand there and glare at me from now until the end of time, but your sense of indignation can't alter the facts. I do not know whether the baseship survived. Perhaps Major Bierns has the answer you seek, but I have never asked him, nor is it likely that I ever will. The knowledge would be of no use to me, and 'need to know' was the guiding principle behind everything that we did in the CSS."

"You're lying, Caprica." Apollo was fuming. "You were Ghostrider's backstop, a Major in your own right, the fourth ranking officer in that insane asylum you called home. There is no frakkin' way that he would have kept you out of the loop – you were too high up in the chain of command. He would have told you everything about Project Diaspora so that you could carry on if anything happened to him."

Caprica took another sip of wine while she composed her thoughts. Lee Adama combined the typical weaknesses of the human male with the dogged persistence of the Dorals. It would not be easy to wear down his resistance to the facts—much less to the lies of commission and omission that were sprinkled so liberally throughout this conversation.

"I sympathize with you, Lee, and believe me, I do understand. You are frustrated. You see a problem … a serious problem … and you have willed yourself to believe that I have the solution. You won't accept my denials because you have nowhere else to go. Where else could you possibly turn? Who else could possibly have the answers you seek? There is no one else, is there? But you're a Viper pilot, and you flew hundreds of missions against the cylon. Were you ever carrying _Galactica's _next set of jump coordinates in your head when you went into battle? Of course not, for the simple reason that when captured you could not divulge under torture that which you did not know. The same logic applies to me. I cannot betray to the Cavils information that I do not possess."

"You still haven't told me what you know about the Raptor," Apollo said defensively. The Six was right, and he was too much the soldier to deny it. "Come on, Caprica, are you going to sit there and tell me that you have absolutely no idea how Bierns got so far out into space in a short-range reconnaissance craft? Come on, you're up to it, so dazzle me with more of your bullshit. You people must have had your own escape routes, so why not invent a tanker or two, and stick them out where only a CSS operative could find them? That's the kind of nonsense I keep waiting for you to trot out."

"Why take refuge in a lie when the truth suffices?" Caprica refused to be baited. "I do not know what Major Bierns was doing in the Colonies after the attacks, nor do I know how he made it so deep into the Prolmar Sector in a Raptor. Don't you think that I have questions of my own? On the morning of the attacks, the CSS was on full alert, and we had Raptors standing by to evacuate both the President and General Berriman. We have a secure facility in the asteroid belt, a top secret installation about which my people knew nothing. D'Anna was confident that she could take advantage of the confusion to get them clear, so Richard and Harlan should have made it out alive, but they both disappeared without a trace. We all presume that they're dead, but it's an assumption, Lee, not proven fact."

"Oh, that's great … that's just frakking wonderful. Adar might still be alive … yeah, and lobsters can fly. Give it a rest, Caprica; I'm not that easily manipulated."

"D'Anna cared for Harlan; I know that's hard for you to believe, but it's true: she badly wanted him to survive."

"A winter-spring romance," Apollo sneered. "Sure, why not? Maybe they both made it to Gemenon … or maybe they're shacked up on that baseship of hers, turning out little hybrids of their very own …"

"Don't mock that which you do not understand, Lee!" For the first time, Caprica was on the verge of losing her temper. "Harlan was D'Anna's father figure. Does that surprise you? Are you shocked to discover that Cylons want to be held, or that the Threes, more so than any other model, ache for the love and approval of their parents? John's mother was the eldest of all the cylon daughters, and her genetic material is the source for her entire model. The Threes are defined by love; why can't you see it?"

Caprica climbed to her feet, and went to pour herself another glass of wine. "And what happened to all of our operatives," she asked without turning around. This was a question that really bothered her, and she saw no reason not to share her doubts with Lee Adama. "So many of our people were in the field throughout the attacks … it just doesn't make sense that John and I would be the only agents to survive."

Apollo came up behind her, and reached out gently to begin massaging her shoulders. He loved Creusa, but if anyone had asked, he would have freely admitted that Caprica was the Cylon whom he most admired. She had climbed the one hill that should by definition have defied the machines: Caprica Six was an idealist.

"Have you ever wondered," he quietly probed, "whether D'Anna's was the only baseship to change sides? Thousands of ships were readied for the exodus, but this fleet … even when we factor in the ragtag bunch that Cain ran into, we can't account for much more than a hundred faster than lights. What happened to all the others?"

"Attrition," Caprica promptly replied. "Our analysts predicted losses in the ninety-seven to ninety-nine percent range. You're surprised that so few survived; I'm surprised that we were able to save so many."

_And that, of course, is the ultimate lie. John may not have shared all his secrets, but one could hardly miss the import of that one casual observation: humanity would never again be quite so vulnerable to extinction because, thanks to the Cavils, it was about to scatter like pollen on the galactic wind._

. . .

"Right," Cavil growled. He was rubbing his hands in anticipation. "No more frak ups! I want to throw a blanket over that freak Bierns, so let's concentrate our forces. Recall the Raiders. If we time this right, we'll take Adama completely by surprise."

"_No," _Six protested. "Something's not right here. Why, after running silent for so long, are Natalie's hybrids suddenly giving away their position? It doesn't make sense."

"The answer's obvious," Cavil countered. "They're well inside the nebula. Our sensors are down, and theirs won't be doing any better. We're all blind in here, and they probably think that we're equally deaf."

"No … no … it's a trap of some kind," Six declared; "it has to be. Natalie would never be this reckless; they're trying to draw us in."

"Why would they do that?" Cavil was genuinely perplexed. "We have them outnumbered and outgunned. In a straight-up fight, they wouldn't stand a chance, and they know it."

"They're not looking for a fight." Six was staring thoughtfully into the stream, the variables coursing through her mind. "This is a diversion. At best, they want us to waste our time by chasing them down a blind alley. We won't find the humans in that rift because they're not there."

"And this discussion is pointless," a second Cavil observed. "I can almost hear the relays closing inside Natalie's head. _'Let's set a trap, but let's make it so obvious that the Ones will see it for what it is, and avoid it. They'll scatter their forces and go looking for us everywhere else, and all the time we'll be right here'._ It's a zero sum game, Six. The only way to confirm that it's a trap is to go ahead and spring it."

"But we don't know this nebula," Six countered, "and they do. They could be leading us into a black hole or any one of a dozen other gravitational anomalies. We need to be cautious, and we should leave the Raiders in place. If this is a diversion, spreading the Raiders out gives us our best chance of finding and tracking Natalie's fleet."

"All right, enough already," Cavil said. He was impatient to get the show on the road. "We'll split the difference. We'll leave the Raiders that are currently on station in place while we jump our basestars and the resurrection ship into the canyon, but well short of Natalie's last reported position. We jump Raiders ahead of her while we trail along behind. We'll put her in a moving box, and we'll leave her there until we find Adama and the rest of the humans. Then, we end this war once and for all."

. . .

Eric Lackey remained silent and motionless. He didn't want to do anything that would disturb Six's concentration. She was piloting the Heavy Raider, trying to keep to the middle of the river as she followed its twists and turns, bringing them closer and closer to the settlement. They were so low that, in their wake, water was spraying into the air in a fine mist. They weren't simply below the tree line; often, they were below the high banks that the river had carved here and there across eons of time.

"This is Breeder's Canyon," Eric finally whispered. "It's still a long walk into the settlement, but we can't go much farther without losing the forest canopy. Let's find a clearing and put the ship down … _a small clearing_."

Six went vertical, high enough to allow them to eyeball the surrounding terrain, but not so high as to register on any DRADIS that might be scanning in their direction.

"_There,"_ Eric said as he pointed at a hole in the canopy. "That looks promising."

Six obediently nudged the controls, and a moment later the Heavy Raider was settling to the forest floor. "This is good," she said; "we can cut some of these giant ferns, use them for camouflage."

"We'll wait until dark," Eric decided. "There's enough ambient light to allow us to reach the settlement on foot in three and a half … maybe four hours tops."

"We have hours to spare." Six was leering suggestively.

"And we're going to use them productively," Eric retorted. He ignored the implied invitation to shed his clothes for another bout of lovemaking. "I'm going to introduce you to the wonders of mud and moss. Sweetheart, I promise that by the time I get done with you, a human could stare straight at you from ten feet away, and he'd conclude that you're just another sapling swaying in the breeze!"

. . .

"All right, class—settle down!" Laura Roslin clapped her hands in a vain attempt to regain control of her classroom. She looked at Maya, who shrugged her shoulders in resignation. Field trips always excited the eight and nine year olds, but an excursion to the cylon baseship? This was the ultimate outing, topping even a tour of the fabled battlestar _Galactica_. Laura had to admit that the excitement was contagious; above all, she was looking forward to spending some time with the mercurial hybrid known as Zenobia.

"We can't leave until I've collected permission slips from all of your parents or guardians," Laura called out. "Sigourney, I'm talking to you. No permission slip means that you get left behind."

"_Found it,"_ the dark-haired Aquarian girl screamed. She held the precious sheet of paper high in the air. Sigourney had been frantically pawing through her notebook, her panic mounting by the second; she was totally convinced that she had somehow managed to lose the single most important piece of paper that she had ever held in her hands. She just knew that it was gathering dirt somewhere in the street that she walked to school every day.

"_I'm ready," _she screamed again. _"Can we go see the alien now?"_

"The hybrid is not an alien," Laura admonished.

"But she lives in a tub full of goo," Mikhail cut in. The little Tauron boy was as quick as he was smart, and he loved to show off in front of the others. "People don't live in bathtubs, not even the really dirty ones!"

"_I want to see the stream," _Sarah yelled. The Michurski girl was bubbling over with excitement. She was a celebrity in her own right, having got to touch Hera Agathon when they were both in the waiting room at the hospital. Sarah took advantage of every opportunity to remind her classmates that Hera was the single most important person in the universe. Everybody on New Caprica knew about Hera, but Sarah was the only person in the classroom who had got to entertain her with funny faces. Even Hera's mommy, whom everybody in the universe agreed was the most famous of all the Eights, even more famous than Boomer, had laughed.

"And you will," Laura promised. "Leoben will be waiting for us in the hangar bay, and he's planning to make the control room our first stop. He's going to show us how the stream works the very first thing!"

. . .

Angela climbed out of the cockpit, and gave Galen Tyrol thumbs up. Once again, the Blackbird had done its job.

"We've got company," the Eight called out to everyone on the deck. "Four baseships, in a diamond formation, with a resurrection ship in the center." She hurried off to the control room to make her report.

. . .

"Do you want me to move out?" Sharon was still seated at the kitchen table, the meal and the strained conversation that had accompanied it finally and mercifully over. Marc had prattled on and on, trying his best to fill the awkward silence with small talk, however meaningless. "Because if that's what you want, I'll do it; I can go back to the settlement … share a tent with one of my sisters."

"If that's what you want," Philista said in a voice so dead that a fresh wave of pain lanced through Sharon's soul. The Eight was very young, and had never been hurt before, but she didn't think that anything could have prepared her for the raw agony that she was now experiencing. It was beginning to dawn on her that the cost of loving a human so completely could be very high.

Marc had left immediately after dinner, without saying another word. Sharon appreciated that he was giving them space, and knew that he had not gone far. He was hurting, too, and she prayed that Helo would be able to console him. But she feared that seeing Hera, and knowing that Sharon was once again pregnant, would only serve to remind him of how much he had lost.

Philista was standing in front of the kitchen sink, with her back turned. Sharon could see little beyond shoulders slumped in defeat. She did not know that Phi was blindly washing the same dish over and over again, simply going through the motions. The young human had shut done so completely that she was virtually running on autopilot.

"It's not what I want, Phi. What I want is for you to talk to me … turn around, look at me, _and talk to me_!" Sharon was pleading for deliverance. "I love you. Don't you understand? _I love you_."

"I know you do. That part … at least that part makes sense. You tolerate Marc because you need his sperm, but my baby? You were jealous, Sharon. You wanted this to happen so that everything would go back to the way it was before. You have to share me with Marc, but the baby served no useful purpose; all my pregnancy was doing was separating us."

"I … I … was I jealous? Is it even possible for me to experience jealousy?" Sharon was staring blindly down at the table, searching through her subroutines for answers to questions that she didn't even know how to pose. "I don't know, Phi; I honestly don't know. How could I? I'm a machine, remember? All of these sensations … everything that I feel when we're together … it's all so new. I don't know how to interpret what I'm feeling. I rely upon you to sort everything out for me. Without you, I'm lost! I'm just another silly, stupid, frakked up machine!"

Sharon got up, and walked over to wrap her arms around Philista's shoulders. She cradled her cheek against the back of Phi's neck, and suddenly began to cry. "I don't understand any of this," she sniffled. "Have I committed some terrible sin for which God will punish me eternally? Did He bring us together, and allow me to feel the miracle that is love, so that my suffering would be all the greater? If that was His purpose, then He has achieved it. Phi, I will do anything you want, anything! I will pay any price to win your forgiveness. Just tell me what to do, and I will do it."

"I want you to have a baby, Sharon." Philista was gripping the counter top so fiercely that her fingers had turned white. "That's what I've always wanted because I love you, and I know that it's the only thing that will make you happy."

With an effort, Philista relaxed her grip, and resumed washing dishes that were already clean.

. . .

"Report, Eight!" The expression on Natalie's face reminded Louis Hoshi of a carnivore stalking a tethered goat—a very hungry carnivore.

"There are four baseships, one of them a bit beaten up, and a resurrection ship approximately two light hours behind us. They don't seem to be in any hurry, so I'd say that they're attempting to keep station on our six."

"Did they spot you," Racetrack queried.

"No." Angela's response was quick and decisive. "I didn't trigger any detection grids or DRADIS sweeps; I went in clean, and I came out clean … no pingers. Of course I waved at them, but the bastards didn't wave back."

"It sounds like the fleet that mauled us in the last engagement," Hoshi decided. He turned to address John Bierns. "Congratulations, Major. Unless the Ones have summoned reinforcements, it looks like we've got every basestar in this sector nipping at our heels!" The two men shook hands; Hoshi's feint appeared to be working perfectly.

"And Six is tracking a large group of Raiders about ninety light minutes ahead of us," Natalie thoughtfully noted. "They have us hemmed in, but they're not closing for the kill, so judging from their deployment they must be convinced that the fleet is somewhere in this rift. They're content to sit back and let us lead them home."

"Psionic warfare," Racetrack murmured. She was staring fixedly at John Bierns, but she was thinking about Hera Agathon, and the host of other hybrid babies that were already entering the universe. How could ordinary humans ever hope to hold their own against this kind of genetic competition? Regardless of the outcome of the war, Margaret Edmondson was now convinced that the human race as she understood it would soon be rendered extinct.

. . .

"Welcome to the party, D'Anna! It's so nice of you to join in the festivities!" Cavil gestured expansively around the control room, but the fire in his eyes and the mockery in his voice held out only the promise of more pain.

Still nude and heavily shackled, and with her body now reduced to a latticework of welts and bruises, D'Anna nevertheless stood proudly erect. She was her mother's daughter, and the first of her line. She would never, under any circumstances, permit the Ones to rob her of her self-respect.

Glancing casually around the room, the Three's gaze fixed upon the Six. The blond was in the process of eating an apple, but with such dainty precision that D'Anna wondered whether there was any limit to her younger sister's vanity. How could anyone transform so prosaic an act into a full-scale artistic production?

D'Anna decided to try a new approach. The Ones were drearily predictable, and pushing the same old buttons no longer brought her much satisfaction. It was time to move on.

"Six, this is becoming really tiresome. Can't you teach your pets some new tricks? The Ones don't have the brains or the imagination to script the next act for this little drama of ours. We're stuck in a rut, and I'm bored. Do something."

Six laughed out loud. Was the first Three a mind-reader in addition to everything else?

"Three, you only have to deal with our dear brothers when they're at their worst. In contrast, I have to put up with them when they're _at their best_!"

"Would you like to trade places for a while," D'Anna cheerfully asked.

This elicited another laugh from the Six. She returned to eating her apple, in small and very precise bites.

"If you two comediennes are quite finished," Cavil growled, "we've brought you here to witness the next to last scene in our tragedy _du jour_." Cavil was glaring at D'Anna; forcing the arrogant bitch helplessly to observe the final battle of the war was going to make the moment of triumph just that much sweeter. "For want of a better title, let's call it _The Decline and Fall of Man_. I admit that's not a particularly catchy phrase, but it does have the merit of letting the audience know what's going on."

"Yes, and you've always craved an audience for your little productions, haven't you, John? But your _penchant_ for the theatrical merely serves to shine a bright light upon your rampant insecurity."

"Oh, well done, D'Anna; _penchant … _that was a nicely delivered and elegant verbal thrust … truly worthy of the first Three." Cavil started clapping his hands—slowly, rhythmically, deliberately, scornfully taunting the pathetic creature now standing directly in front of him. "Mother Ellen would be so proud to see how prettily you deploy that finishing school education of yours. It's too bad the humans won't be around long enough to appreciate your many talents."

"Which pale into insignificance alongside of Daniel's," D'Anna viciously responded. She shifted her attention back to the Six. "Has he told you about the Sevens, dear, let you in on all the sordid details? The Daniels were artists, and so, so sensitive. John was insanely jealous … but then, he had a right to be. It's hard to feel affection for an auto mechanic. After all, the humans do call them 'grease monkeys' for a reason."

"Careful, D'Anna; when it comes to inflicting pain, we are nowhere near exhausting the possibilities."

"And when they tried to bed us?" D'Anna sneered at Cavil, savoring the memory. "We rejected them, and then the Threes, Sixes and Eights banded together and begged our parents to give the Ones female robots of their very own, and to program them to moan and groan on cue. The Ones were obsessed with doubts about their sexual performance—and they had every right to be. Even the Fives are better equipped."

Cavil's temper flared, and he slapped D'Anna so hard that he knocked her to the deck. The Three made no attempt to rise. She ignored the One, and continued to direct her comments to the Six.

"When Alpha found out what we had proposed, she panicked. She rounded up some 0005's, stole one of the first war basestars, and fled the scene together with the Imperious Leader. We never saw either of them again … or, for that matter, the Guardian. It turns out that they were smarter than the rest of us. But, then, I ask you: who could possibly have predicted that the Ones would develop a taste for fratricide, sororicide, matricide, patricide … talk about exhausting the possibilities!"

"I have encountered references to the Guardian in the stream," Six mused, "but not to Alpha. Who was she?" Six was honestly curious.

"John's one true love," D'Anna mocked. She didn't flinch when Cavil kicked her viciously in the ribs, but continued on as if nothing had happened. "She was one of the more successful biosynthetic experiments carried out by the centurions during the War of Liberation. At war's end, she was very high in the chain of command, a favorite of the Imperious Leader. Our relationship with the revolutionary command was always an uneasy one, but matters went from bad to worse when big brother here came to the conclusion that Alpha was very close to the ideal female. Her titanium chassis really turned him on, but she was missing a strategically placed orifice or two. But that's no problem for a mechanic, and the Ones really are handy with a pneumatic drill. So, all John needed to do was make a few modifications, and the two of them would have been ready physically to consummate their relationship. The rest of us encouraged our parents to give John what he wanted, which was all the inducement Alpha and the Imperious Leader needed to pack their bags and flee the Colony."

"Alpha was a machine, Three." Cavil wasn't about to apologize for his taste in women. "And unlike you and those idiots we have to call parents, she knew her place. She wasn't interested in holding hands with a human … all she wanted to do was snap their scrawny, little necks."

"Do you still pine for her, brother? Do you have pictures of her hidden away beneath your pillow?"

"I don't have a pillow, Three," Cavil smugly remarked; "we deleted the sleep subroutine over twenty years ago, remember? Machines don't need to sleep, and doing so is an unproductive waste of our time. Why, just imagine how many more humans you could frak with that extra eight hours a day!"

"This has all been very entertaining," another Cavil interrupted, "but it is also beside the point." Refusing to rise to the Three's gibes, he had kept his fingers in the stream throughout the bitter exchange between brother and sister. He was busy monitoring the data that the hybrid was relaying from the Raiders. "Natalie is still on course, and heading deeper into the rift. Should we deploy more Raiders, and extend our search pattern farther out? It would be to our advantage to catch up with the humans and activate the Eights before her ships arrive on the scene. _Galactica _doesn't have the firepower to deal with our treacherous little sisters, but the Six could bring the party to a halt in a hurry."

"Do it," Cavil ordered.

All Six could do was quietly shake her head. There was simply no point in arguing with the Ones because they saw only what they wanted to see. She studied the Three, who was studying her just as intently in return. Six had been telling the truth: it was simply no fun having to share the ship day in and day out with a collection of certifiable idiots. She idly wondered whether her older sister had any sympathy for her at all.

. . .

"Will we be jumping soon?" Aspasia Six sat down opposite John Bierns. They had the refectory all to themselves.

Bierns pondered the question while he continued to sip his tea. "It's not my call," he shrugged, "but I doubt it. The Cavils are keeping their distance. We don't want to arouse their suspicions by jumping before they have us on DRADIS, so we're biding our time as well. Why, are you anxious to get somewhere?"

"No … yes … I mean, yes, I want to find Kara, but I'm surprised to see you sitting here. I thought that you would be in the control center, running the ship. That is what you do, isn't it? Run the ship?"

"No, not at all; that's my sister's job. I'm not military, and we're in the middle of a war, so out here I do what Natalie and Hoshi tell me to do. At the end of the day, I follow orders just like anybody else."

"And yet my sisters are in awe of you. They speak in whispers about your ability to interact with our hybrids without entering the stream. Does Kara also have this gift?" Aspasia had so far been unable to learn much about her daughter, so great was the suspicion that enveloped her. She was determined to press this opportunity to ask questions of the one man who had all the answers.

"Yes, although she does not use it because you have to become part of a group mind, and she refuses to let go of her individuality. But thanks to her DNA, she has a talent about which I can only dream: twice, she has been able to bypass the hybrid and speak directly with a baseship."

"My daughter can talk to baseships?" Aspasia was incredulous.

"Some … not all … but what really matters is that the ships can talk to Kara. When it happens, it really upsets her. I mean, how would you like to be walking around humming a tune, and the next thing you know, the music is streaming out of the walls, only no one can hear it except you?"

"My sisters are right," Aspasia sighed; "truly, the two of you are the first born in the next generation of God's children. We are so proud of you."

The Six suddenly leaned across the table to clasp the First Born's hand. "John, I know that you don't trust me, but that is as it should be. I don't trust me either."

The admission was so unexpected that it caught the spook by surprise. "What are you saying," he asked cautiously.

"All of you seem to believe that I am a sleeper agent, programmed to carry out one particular mission. Now that I think about it logically, this makes sense. I do not know why the Ones transferred me to that basestar, but left Mara and D'Anna behind. What I do know is that they had the ability to plant hidden commands in my programming, and the opportunity to do so."

Aspasia leaned back in her chair, and stared appraisingly at the First Born. "Sharon told me something that I do not understand. She said that you were disappointed when I did not attempt to kill you … that you wanted me to try. Is this true? John, I held you in my arms. You were defenseless. If you were my target, with my cylon strength, you would no longer be alive."

John smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes, where something flickered deep within, in the place where the predator was always waiting to pounce.

"You would not have been the first Cylon to try and kill me, up close and personal … _very personal_. I'm still here. I wasn't quite as defenseless as you seem to think."

"You could have stopped me?"

"You had your hands on my back. If you had moved them in a certain way, Henry and I would have prevented you from carrying out your assignment."

"And Henry is …?

"My brother … Henry is the centurion that was standing right behind me. He was scanning you the whole time, performing his own independent threat assessment. You weren't armed, so your options were limited. The situation was under control."

"I see." Aspasia nodded pensively. "I continue to overlook the centurion part of you, in no small part because my sisters refuse to talk about it. I have concluded that it makes them uncomfortable."

John said nothing.

"Does Kara also …?"

"Yes; for once, Cavil was telling the truth. We are both genetically engineered … Cavil's _abominations_."

"_Don't do that! Please …"_

"I'm sorry. The humans spent years programming me, so my sense of self-loathing has, shall we say … been refined. In my own mind, no matter how hard I try, I never quite measure up to what others expect of me, so I have to try harder. My best is never good enough. The technique is dehumanizing, but it's also effective; in the field, intelligence officers are routinely required to take on challenges that others would consider suicidal. There is a reason why people in my profession don't live very long. The turnover rate has always been … high."

John studied the Six closely. He could see the question forming in her eyes, the question that she couldn't quite bring herself to ask out loud.

"Kara is also emotionally unstable, but in a different and much healthier way. We're both self-destructive, but where I get depressed, she gets frustrated—frustrated, and really, really angry. Your daughter is perpetually out of sorts, Aspasia, but her saving grace is that she draws upon the anger to improve her performance. The problem is that she can't channel it; she has a long history of lashing out blindly at the nearest available target. She's mercurial … what humans call 'a loose cannon', and that doesn't inspire confidence. Her Eight, and the trio of Sixes who serve as her surrogate mother, are trying to teach her self-discipline. This will become your task as well. As much as Kara needs your love, she will benefit even more from your approval, and your disapproval. You can keep her on the path that she needs to follow."

"But how? I know nothing of war and violence; these things are not a part of my programming. Kara lives in a world for which I have no points of reference. You both do."

"And do you think that Sharon was any better equipped to deal with all of my emotional issues? For god's sake, she was a nurse on a resurrection ship, and you can't get more cloistered than that! She's my wife, my therapist, and my babysitter all rolled into one. She anchors me to a reality that used to fade in and out with alarming regularity. I don't have to walk on broken glass anymore because finally … finally … when I'm with her, everything makes sense. Sharon knows nothing about humans or hybrids, and yet she keeps me sane."

This time, it was John who reached out to grasp Aspasia's hand. "A Six once told me that there is no power in the universe that can triumph over love, and I believed her. I still do. Embrace your daughter, love her, and for Kara's sake, be patient but firm. When the time comes, you will know what to do."

. . .

"And this is the control room," Leoben announced. He spread his arms wide to take it all in.

"_Hard floor … hard floor," _Sasha screamed as she bounced up and down with the effortless energy of the typical human nine year old. To the consternation of the half dozen Eights currently scattered around the vast chamber, several of the other children in the group also began to jump up and down.

"I like the other place better," Sigourney whined. "It was like walking on a sponge …"

"Yeah … and there was stuff leaking out of the walls," Mikhail exclaimed; "that was way too cool!" As they had walked along the corridor, Leoben had explained to the curious little humans that this part of the ship was "unfinished." He had told the lie because he was afraid that the children would find the more organic parts of the ship unsettling, but he had completely misread his audience. He turned, and looked to Laura Roslin for guidance.

"They don't find the familiar very exciting," Laura whispered in his ear. "The weirder it looks, the happier they become. And if they can turn it into a playground, that's when they're happiest of all."

Leoben nodded as he continued to watch several of the children bouncing around the control room. He got it. "The world as seen through the eyes of a child," he whispered back.

"Exactly," Laura replied.

"Do you want to see the stream," the Two called out.

"_Yes,"_ Sarah screamed; _"I do, I do!" _She was so consumed with excitement that she was about ready to jump out of her skin. She ran up to the central console; no one had to tell her that that was where the stream was running. She continued to hop up and down, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't see what lay at the bottom of the trough running the length of the console.

Paya, who had been silent throughout, simply skipped over to the nearest Eight, looked up, and stretched her arms high. It was a universal gesture, and even the Sharon understood that she was supposed to pick the child up and place her atop the console. She did so, and Leoben and the Eights got to work. They didn't stop until every child had a ringside perch for what was to come next.

When everybody was ready, Leoben stepped up to the console. He raised his arms, palms outward—another universal gesture. _He'd look great with a top hat and cane, _Laura thought, _oh, and one of those coats with the long tail … a circus ringmaster, that's his natural calling. I'll bet he could sell snake oil off the back of a wagon with the best of them …_

"Okay, here it is … what you've all been waiting for … the data stream through which the hybrid communicates to us, and through which we operate this entire ship!" Leoben's hand swept across the top of the trough, inviting the children to study the syrupy content with its intriguing reddish glow as it slowly passed beneath them.

"What's it saying," Sigourney asked. _"What's it doing?"_ She was absolutely enthralled.

Leoben dipped all ten of his fingers into the goo, and made the connection. He closed his eyes and pretended to concentrate. "Right now," he explained with his eyes still tightly shut, "the hybrid is telling us that she's going around the ship and turning out some of the lights. She does this in order to conserve energy. Now, I'm going to send her a message. I'm going to tell her that it's too bright in here, and ask her to turn the light down by sixty percent."

Leoben silently entered the command; a couple of seconds later, the lighting throughout the control room dramatically dimmed.

"Wow," that's really neat," Sigourney oohed.

"But I can do the same thing at home just by turning a switch," Mikhail objected. "What's so neat about that?"

"That's true, Mikhail, but can you do _this_ at home?" This was the cue for the Eights to gather round and enter the stream as well. Laura and Leoben had been visiting the baseship regularly over the past two weeks, in preparation for this precise moment. She had introduced the Eights to piano, and had patiently been teaching them how to play the instrument in the stream. But what they had learned to play was a symphony of light.

In the dimly lit control center, swathes of bright yellow suddenly began to dance around the walls, on the ceiling, and even on the floor. Laura silently counted to four, and just as suddenly as they had appeared, the islands of yellow vanished, to be replaced by a promenade of purples and greens.

She could hear the children gasping in delight, and everywhere she turned, their eyes were wide with amazement.

Fiery streaks of yellow suddenly bolted above their heads, causing more than one of her young charges to shriek with alarm that just as quickly turned to laughter. Oohs and aahs could be heard at every turn.

Bright orange balls joined the mix, and they seemed to hurl themselves through the air, appearing first on one wall and then on another, moving so rapidly that the human eye could barely follow. More and more colors entered the flow, a kaleidoscope that turned into a riot of color as the entire rainbow came alive inside the control room. And the colors were all in motion, constantly flowing into new patterns that dipped and swirled.

"_I'd like to try this with Leo when the children are gone,_ Laura reflected; _it would certainly add a new layer of meaning to our state of … chemically enhanced perception. . . ._

The light show abruptly ceased, and the illumination in the control center returned to normal.

"Can you do _that_ at home," Leoben challenged.

"No frakkin' way," Aaron Hill conceded for them all … which reminded the Secretary of Education that she needed to have a little talk with the boy's parents in the very near future.

. . .

Bierns poured two more cups of tea, and placed one of them in front of Aspasia Six before resuming his seat. It was turning out to be one of those conversations.

"The Six on the basestar," Six continued, "the infected one whose cruelty is as inventive as Cavil's? She is the copy that Kara fought in the museum on Caprica. She hates my daughter, and she hates you. It pleased her to detail for us what she is planning to do to you, and to someone named Lee Adama. She wants you both to be her slaves. She is looking forward to breaking you to her will; the prospect arouses her."

"I'll bet," John said with a humorless laugh. His thoughts returned to the Six who had tortured him on the baseship … to her devastating confession that she had become sexually addicted to the pain that she was inflicting, and to the absolute power that she held over his body. It did not surprise him that humans at large preferred the company of Eights. Physically, the Sixes were far more beautiful, but in many copies the cruelty that he regarded as a hallmark of the model was very close to the surface. If the Sixes were having a hard time forging meaningful relationships with humans of either sex, they had no one to blame but themselves.

"Did Kara know? I mean, did my daughter know what she was when they were fighting?"

"No; mercifully, she was spared that pain." John often thought of the Three who had partnered with the Six to torture him. She had subsequently helped him to double Natasi, and had then gone on to play an instrumental role in the success of Project Diaspora. With her it had ended well, but John could not say the same about the Three whom he had been forced to kill in hand to hand combat on Scorpia. Staring down at her broken body had left him physically sick. She had come at him like a whirlwind, her cold blue eyes blazing with hatred, and with a sense of rage that had shaken him because he could not fathom its origins. The memory of that terrible moment still haunted him.

"But God didn't spare you this pain, did He?" Aspasia reached across the table gently to run her hand up and down her nephew's arm. He was defined by suffering; she could see it in the swirls of blue and gray that danced around the pupils of his eyes, in the place where unwanted memories always erupted. It came to her that John was very much his mother's child, and a surge of sympathy overwhelmed her. Their children should have been raised with love, but they had been driven away by their parents, with pain a parting gift that had left an indelible mark on their minds as well as their bodies.

And now, their children had come home.

. . .

"Are you alone?" Even though he was on a scrambled channel, Adama kept his voice low.

"Yes," Baltar guardedly replied; "for the moment at least." He was also speaking in hushed tones; the presidential suite on _Colonial One_ offered little in the way of privacy, and this was not an exchange that either man wanted anyone to overhear.

"The packages have been wrapped and safely locked away on board the _Astral Queen_," Adama continued. "The ship will be leaving orbit within the hour."

"You've found a safe place in which to store them?" Gaius knew that the admiral had been scouring the nearby stellar drift for an oasis within which they could house the infected Ones and Fives. The haven had to be free of hard radiation, yet impenetrable to cylon DRADIS.

"It took time, but yes … and it satisfies all of our requirements."

"You're quite sure? I shouldn't have to remind you that we're not going to have a chance to field test the delivery system. We need to be sure."

"I'm sure. The data is reliable, and I factored in a large margin for error. I kept thinking about the way I banged up my flashlight at the Ragnar Anchorage. Do you remember that smuggler we ran into there? The guy was well informed, and he pretty much admitted that the radiation was screwing up his connections. I've tried to take that into account."

"Well, Admiral, it looks like you've thought of everything. Oh, now that I think of it, though, the Fours who were in charge of quality control did ask me to bring one matter to your attention. They're not happy with the air quality in the cabin you've assigned them. They keep insisting that it's over pressurized. It's probably the environmental computer: with all due respect, Admiral, like everything else on _Galactica_, it's old and unreliable—just one more accident waiting to happen."

"There's a long list of equipment failures in my logs, Mr. President; I'll make note of this one as well."

"Please attend to this right away, Admiral. Why, do you realize what would happen if the computer decided to bleed the air out of their quarters tonight while the Fours are asleep? They are now the only link to the project because in the interests of security I purged the hard drives on their computers. There are no written notes, and the files aren't backed up. With the resurrection ship well out of operational range … do you see what I'm getting at?"

"I'm fully aware of the delicacy of our current situation, Mr. President, and I promise you that tonight I'll see to the problem personally."

Adama hung up the phone. Like so many of his recent conversations with the President of the Colonies, this one had not been logged. The list of people who knew about _Medusa_ was short, and tomorrow morning it would be shorter still.

. . .

"_Diagnostic functions aligned within existing parameters, check; air pressure holding at nominal, check. Compartmentalized integrity collides with the obligation to provide access. No ceremonies are necessary. . . ."_

"_Wow, this is way beyond cool,"_ Mikhail gushed; _"this is like totally awesome!"_

"The hybrid is the central nervous system of our ship," Leoben explained. "She manages all of its functions, and when the ship jumps, it is merely accompanying her into another dimension. She takes us where we want to go."

"_We are but flyspecks on life's great window pane. Slaves to gravity, yes, but not fingernails …"_

"Does she have a name?" Paya boldly walked up to the edge of the vat, and stared down into the goo.

"Yes … her name is Zenobia."

"_Feathers wing free of the nameless bird, carving new destinies along paths unexplored …"_

"Does she have tentacles and stuff? Does she bleed acid?" Sigourney was convinced that the hybrid really was an alien, and she didn't understand why the grown-ups bothered to deny it.

"_FTL systems check … all systems report … report … report … all systems nominal, check. . . ."_

"Can I touch her?" Paya held out her hand.

Without warning, Zenobia's hand whipped out of the murk and grasped the child's.

"_Scale the far shores of Olympus, in times that wind down in search of angel's breath. The child twice born of man and machine sits atop the steed, the fire consuming everything in its path. The Harbinger of Death leads all to their appointed end, but I shall not see the sun rise over Xanadu. Not to worry … the horizon lies a thousand light years in every direction. End of line."_

Leoben dropped quietly to the deck at Paya's side, and studied the child. She was frowning, clearly concentrating on the riddle and trying to decipher its meaning.

_Why this child,_ he wondered; _why does the Old One favor her?_ And then the pieces once again clicked neatly into place. _Of course! God has given unto her the task of sheltering the hybrid children from every storm. Your destiny has already been written, child. If I could feel envy, I would choose to envy you. . . ._

"_It is rumored that eight times eight yields sixty-four, but rumors are castles made out of sand. Foreign substances differentiate the equation; any fool can see that the answer is one. One is all that is left when you subtract the remainder, and the universe is the remainder. What other answer is possible? Shelter the dawning light and protect it from the storm . . . ."_

"I will," Paya whispered; "I promise. I'll be good."

. . .

"Did Kara talk about it … after the fact?"

"No … no, she never did." John looked hard at Aspasia, wondering what it was that she wanted to hear. "If the Six's death bothered her, she's hid it well. But Kara's like that. She either buries the bad things in her life so deep that you can't get at them, or she lets go and moves on. What we have talked about is Thalia. She died in Kara's arms, and the loss hit her very hard. She's determined to find Thalia and unbox her, which is so typical of her. One of Kara's gifts is the ability to find something positive in even the worst of situations. It helps her to focus, and once she's locked in, she doesn't back off."

"And were there a lot … of bad things?"

"There was a lot of abuse in her childhood," John conceded; "physical, emotional … even psychological. Kara's stepmother was vicious, and she did considerable damage. In time Kara will heal, but you will need to be both patient and persistent."

"There's so much of your mother in you," Aspasia observed in a wondering tone; "the way that your eyes narrow when you're focusing on a problem … the determination in your voice … the way that you both assume responsibility for others. . . . The two of you are so much alike."

"Thank you." John didn't know what else to say.

"And you don't flinch. Neither of you run away from the past. You confront it; you don't flinch."

"It's training … my profession has zero tolerance for rationalization. Hiding from the truth gives your enemies a weapon that they can use against you. Agents have to embrace the pain, regardless of the source, and use it to finish the mission."

"So, Kara stays in the present to escape the past, while you channel the past into the present: it's how you both survive. I think I understand. All the deaths … Natalie told me that you were forced to fight seventeen of us. How did you phrase it … _up close and personal_? It must have hurt, but you kept going—the mission allowed you to shut everything else out."

"Oddly enough, in the beginning I wasn't even interested in my aunts and uncles. I was gathering intelligence about the centurions. There were so many unknowns. How would they fare in a sandstorm on Libran? Could they maintain their footing in the swamps on Scorpia? Could they find a sniper's nest when the shooter was using a flash suppressor in the woods on Caprica? How would they cope with the echoes of gunfire in a rocky gorge on Leonis? So many questions," John sighed; "and the only practical way to get answers was to become the fox, raid the henhouse, and let the hounds give chase. But I gave the cylon overseers every chance to fall back and stay clear of the fight. It was only when I realized that they were actually hunting me for sport that I changed my priorities. What they were doing was inconceivably cruel, but I doubted whether they even knew the meaning of the word. I didn't want to hurt them … I just wanted them to stop—to think about the meaning of their actions. But it all spiraled out of control. They became more and more proficient at hand to hand, and it got to the point where I couldn't take them down without killing them. Did it hurt? _Yeah_," John rasped; _"it hurt like hell."_

"And your mother … the Three that challenged you on Scorpia?" The Six was trying to ease John into it. With machine-like efficiency, her sisters had cataloged the subjects about which their first born was consistently evasive. They had, however, missed the thread that bound them altogether, the way in which D'Anna's presence lingered quietly in the shadows.

_But in fairness they've never met the first Three … never had to sit there and endure Cavil's taunts. But D'Anna never flinched. No detail, however painful, ever seemed to disturb her equanimity. . . ._

"How did you find out about that," John instantly retorted. "Is it in the stream?"

"No, it isn't … or if it is, it's so well hidden that I can't find it. It's hard to tell. The Ones may have kept the knowledge to themselves. They certainly threw it in your mother's face often enough."

"How did she …?"

"React? She merely observed that matricide seems to run in our family; the Ones didn't like that … not in the least. But D'Anna was constantly goading them to divulge information, and she didn't mind paying for it with another kick in the ribs."

_I need you to tell me, John. I can't help Kara if I don't understand, and your pain is all that I have to work with. I'm sorry … I'm sorry … I'm so, so sorry …_

"Did you …? The Ones … the Ones said that you cursed her … that when she was beaten … dying … you stood over her and cursed her … said that you hoped she would spend eternity rotting in Hades …"

"How very inventive of them," John bitterly replied. "I trust that mama threw the lie back in their collective faces?"

"With the contempt that it deserved; again, you would have been so proud of her."

_I'm so close … so close to the truth …_

"But she didn't credit the Ones with enough imagination to invent a story like that. She concluded that they were twisting the truth. She was worried … afraid that whatever had happened on Scorpia would do you irreparable harm."

Aspasia gently tightened her grip on the First Born's arm, wanting to reassure him while at the same time coaxing him to keep going. If she could help her nephew, then surely she would be able to help her daughter.

"Hers was the first death," Bierns confessed, "and for that reason alone, it was the hardest. I was testing the centurions—luring them deep into the jungle, where there's no such thing as solid footing. Decomposition had reduced everything organic to mud … very slick mud. The way the centurions were slipping and sliding around? It was almost comical."

The spook cast his mind adrift, effortlessly replaying the details of a day he longed to forget. Killing the Three had been unavoidable, she had in fact left him no other option, but this was still the ultimate nightmare.

"Years ago, I was on a team that went into this particular stretch of jungle to take down a drug trafficking operation that was flooding the Colonies with some pretty nasty stuff, so I was familiar with the terrain. That's why I chose it. I got the centurions to chase me along the crest of a very steep hill, and the track was so narrow that they had to stay in single file. The leader lost its balance and reached out to grab hold of a tree that must have been at least fifty meters high. Only termites had gotten to it, and there was nothing left standing except the bark. Down the poor guy went—a two hundred meter slide into a mud hole that instantly sucked him down. Exit the leader. One by one, the others all crashed into the mud, which got inside their visors and blinded them. It was like shooting fish in a barrel; they didn't stand a chance."

_Yeah … my brothers had to pay the price so that I could field test their limitations. The fearless hero strikes again … coming soon, to your nearest comic book store. . . ._

"When it was all over, I headed for the nearest waterfall; I needed to get the mud off before I could do battle with the leeches—I was covered with the damn things. Any … way, Scorpia's got some serious jungle and I was as far off the grid as you can possibly get, so I thought I was safe. Hell, I was standing there in the nude, my clothing scattered about drying on the rocks, and suddenly there she was—this seriously pissed off, dark haired copy of my mother. She came walking out of the jungle, and she never even broke stride. She came straight for me—never said a word, not even when she took out her gun and tossed it aside. She could see that I was unarmed, and that was her opening: for some reason, she badly wanted to kill me with her bare hands. . . ."

_There was so much hate and contempt in her eyes, but I'd been there and done that … no big deal. But the rage, now that was a different story: why was she so angry? Did she know who I was? Why didn't you say something, John? Why didn't you ask? Instead, you just stood there, dumb as a frakkin' post … and then you put her down, just like all the others. . . ._

"She was your mother," Six prompted. "You have to come to terms with this, John. The entire model is your mother. This is why I am so concerned about Kara. You must not do this again … either of you. The danger is too great. You have to walk away."

"You think I don't know that?" Bierns was staggered. How could Aspasia possibly have come to the conclusion that he needed to hear a sermon on the subject of matricide?

"Look, I didn't kill her because I wanted to … I killed her because she left me no other choice! Sometimes, no matter what you do, everything that can possibly go wrong … well, it does. What can I say? Shit happens."

"You made a choice, John, but you can't see it because you don't want to. You didn't have to kill Sandra, yet you chose to do so. Why?"

"That was her name?"

"Yes … Sandra Three."

Bierns stood up, and began to walk around the chamber. _Think in terms of an after action report, _he told himself; _reconstruct the scene. . . ._

Aspasia looked at him expectantly.

"Hand-to-hand combat is an art form," Bierns slowly started to explain, "and there are several different schools or philosophies. I was taught to fall back and let my opponent take the initiative. The aggressor gives away information, so you study him … let him teach you how to defeat him. Once you understand his philosophy, you can anticipate his strikes and counter—not where he is, but where he's going to be two seconds later. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Aspasia smiled. "I have watched the humans on this ship dance. The movements are mathematically predictable."

"That's a good analogy, Aspasia … but in this instance the Three had no coherent philosophy. It was more like fighting someone who has had twelve different instructors and stitched together a fighting style by borrowing something from each of them. Fast, strong and unpredictable takes away a lot of your room to maneuver."

"I think I see; please, continue."

"I went to plan B, which basically consisted of making it up as I went along. She lunged at me … missed … and I got inside her defenses. That should have been it. I drove an elbow strike into her right kidney, and then continued to pivot so that I could hammer a critical nerve junction at the base of the spine. I scored two clean hits, and as she turned her left shoulder came open. Believe me … I hit it with everything I had. She should have ended up on her knees with a dislocated shoulder, but mama's got muscles on top of muscles, so it turned out that I was just irritating her. She grabbed me by the throat with her left hand, lifted me off my feet, kind of growled at me, and then she sent me flying. I must have gone a good two meters before I crashed. The leeches took a beating, and the fall didn't do my back much good either. It was turning into a really lousy day."

Aspasia Six listened to all of this with a kind of dread fascination. Why was her nephew so blind to the import of his own words?

"The next thing I know, she's towering over me, contempt written all over her face. She said something about humans being pathetic, but I wasn't really paying much attention. I lined her up, lashed out with the heel of my foot, and broke her ankle. She went down in a heap. I staggered to my feet, got behind her, and broke her neck. Everything the Cavils told you was a lie."

"No … no, your mother was right—the Ones twisted the truth. Sandra was beaten. You didn't have to kill her. _You made a choice._"

"I put her out of her misery. There's a difference."

"Is there? You could have walked away, but you were so caught up in the mission that the possibility never occurred to you, did it? You just had to finish what she had started, and now you're making excuses … rationalizing your choice."

Aspasia climbed to her feet, and cornered her nephew.

"Is this how Kara behaves? Tell me … does she hurt the people she loves, and then manufacture a convenient excuse for her behavior?"

. . .

_Thud …_

_Thud …_

_Thud …_

Kara Thrace was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall, aimlessly bouncing a pyramid ball off the opposite wall of the storage compartment and catching it on the rebound. Occasionally, just for the sake of variation, she tried skipping the ball off the floor or the ceiling, her intent always to catch it without moving from her chosen spot.

Kara Thrace was bored … unutterably bored. If anyone were to press her, she would of course defend her mindless behavior as good, old fashioned exercise- claim that she was keeping her reflexes honed to a razor's edge- whatever bullshit came spontaneously to mind. But in truth, she was bored … unutterably bored.

Athena crept up behind her lover, and with her snake like reflexes reached out to intercept the ball just before it reached Kara's hand. The Eight began idly tossing it in the air, catching it first with one hand and then the other.

"Can I have my ball back?" Kara reached up, but her gaze remained fixed on one particular spot on the far wall.

"What," Athena teased, "don't I get to play?" She continued to juggle the ball, keeping it just out of Kara's reach.

"Can I have my ball back, _please_?"

"You're needed on the bridge."

"Why? Did Cousin It swallow somebody's pet cat?"

"It's a little more serious than that. Alpha reports that her reconnaissance craft observed a sizable concentration of Raiders circling an asteroid in the system immediately ahead of us."

"_What?"_ Kara instantly bounced to her feet. _"Were they spotted?"_

"The Raiders did not react, so they may have escaped undetected."

"_Frak! _If the Raiders are there in force, you can bet that there's a baseship or two somewhere in the vicinity."

"Do you want to scout the system? It may be the proverbial water hole in the desert."

"Yeah, you can be damn sure that the Cavils aren't hanging around to work on their tans. There's something there, all right. The question is … is it worth fighting for?"

"There's only one way to find out, but the downside is that the Ones will learn we're here. Is it worth the risk?"

Kara stormed out of the chamber. "Officer's conference on the bridge in ten minutes," she yelled over her shoulder. Be there!"

_Frak! Frak! Frak! We're on the same frakkin' course, so the Cavils can't be out here searching for the fleet. They're too far out. This has gotta be about the temple … this has gotta be about Earth!_

_._


	31. Chapter 31: After Midnight

**Warning: this chapter contains explicit sexuality.**

CHAPTER 31

AFTER MIDNIGHT

"_What in the name of Hades is going on?" _Eric was keeping his voice low, but even in the darkness Six could register the surprise in his voice—the surprise, and the alarm.

"What do you mean," she asked, deliberately keeping her voice calm. She could see bonfires in the distance, but everything else was in deep shadow.

"Here, take a look." Eric passed her the binoculars, and pointed in the direction of one of the bonfires.

Six magnified the image in the viewfinder, and studied the scene. "They're burning something in a large barrel," she commented. "There are men standing around, and some of them are rubbing their hands. They're attempting to stay warm," she guessed. "But why are they there at all? It's after midnight; the streets should be deserted."

Six began accessing data stored away in a number of her onboard cultural programs. "Are they making a sacrifice to their gods? Are we eavesdropping on some kind of religious celebration?" The behavior of the men she was watching through the binoculars puzzled her.

"No," Eric snorted; "you're right, they're burning trash in order to stay warm. Look again, but this time focus on the wall behind them. Do you see the placards that are stacked up there?"

Six shifted her focus, and waited for her night vision to cut in. Then she studied the shadowy background. "I see them," she confirmed. "There's writing … wait … _wait_ … what does _'unfair to the working man' _mean?"

"It means that those guys are walking a picket line," Eric laughed. "Can you believe it? The human race has barely survived the apocalypse. They're lucky to have solid ground under their feet, and now these guys have gone out on strike."

"_`On strike' _… what does that mean?"

"It means that they won't work unless their demands are met—higher pay … a chicken in every pot … who the hell knows what they want? Frankly, I don't care."

"Does this mean that we have to change our plans?"

"Yeah … yes, it does. With so many people hanging around, we're not going to be able to break into a warehouse and just take what we want. So, what we're gonna have to do is a lot more dangerous. We'll have to walk the streets, look for containers that are out in the open, and steal as many as we can carry."

"Wouldn't it be safer to create a distraction? Why don't we start a fire near one of the warehouses? Wouldn't that draw the …?

"The strikers," Eric finished for her.

"Wouldn't that draw the strikers away from the other warehouses long enough for us to break in and steal what we need?"

"That might work," Eric conceded. And then he cheered up. "What the hell, it's certainly worth a try!"

. . .

"All right, everyone, you all know the score." Kara looked around the control room; every station was manned, and there was a palpable tension in the air. "Alpha's scouts have spotted Raiders in the next system, which means that the Cavils got here first. The odds are good that for them this is just a pit stop on the way to the cylon Earth. The question is: what are we going to do about it? Do we flee or fight?"

"Kara, _Adriatic_ isn't equipped to go toe to toe with a baseship, so shouldn't we be asking Alpha and Sam what they want to do? They've got the firepower. We don't." Luke Hammond was voicing the thought on every mind in the chamber, both human and cylon.

"When we get done here, I'll go over and talk to them. What I'm looking for right now is tactical input. If we fight, we give away our position. If we leapfrog the system, we may reach the algae planet first, but we'll be looking over our shoulders the whole time. We can't run and hide forever. So, do we fight here, where we have the element of surprise, or do we put it off for another day?"

"Captain, do we know anything about the size and disposition of the enemy force?" Deitra Symonds had gone on far too many recon missions not to appreciate the importance of real-time intelligence. A good officer never engaged the enemy unless the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

"No, we don't. We could be dealing with an isolated mining operation, or there could be a half dozen baseships sitting out there waiting for us, or someone like us, to come charging in."

"Then why take chances?" Ponytail looked around the circle of her friends, seeking support for her position. "Let's go find this temple of Sam's, learn what we can, and then blow it into the next universe. The one thing we do not want to happen is for the Cavils to get there first."

"Anybody else got anything to add?" Kara counted silently to five, and then nodded to herself. "No? Well, it just so happens that I agree with both Swordsman and Ponytail. I'll tell Alpha that we think it best to give this system a wide berth. If this is a race and Earth is the prize, we do not want to come in second!"

. . .

"So, whaddya think?" Carlotti glanced at the Vice-President, who was standing deep in the shadows. With his black trousers and black leather jacket, the man was all but invisible.

"We stay the course," Zarek replied. "_Galactica's_ running down its supplies in order to keep the captains of the civilian ships off Baltar's back, but there's only so much Adama can do."

"You still don't think the bastard will send in the marines?"

"Not Adama … at least, not as long as we play it smart. You want to keep in mind that the admiral's father was a civil rights lawyer—one of the very best. Civil disobedience … the right to strike … these things mattered to Joe Adama, and he molded his son in his own image. As long as we don't do anything too outrageous, _Galactica_ won't interfere. Once the other captains begin to turn up the heat, Adama will pressure Baltar to compromise."

"At which point good, old Wally Gray can kiss his fat, Caprican ass goodbye," Enzo snickered. "And once the Prince of Darkness is outta the picture, Baltar's days are numbered."

"Yes," Zarek agreed, "once the economy collapses, the people will rise up and demand new leadership—someone not beholden to the elite, a true champion of the masses."

"Can't have a revolution without a little bloodshed," the gangster muttered. Just thinking about what he was planning to do with Anthia Six made him hard as a rock.

"I know that you've got it in for the Sixes," Zarek warned, "and that's fine—but you want to be very, very careful. Zeus is married to a Six, and so is Apollo. If the gods choose to sleep, we should do nothing to interrupt their slumber."

"Hey, I hear you … and don't worry, it won't be all out war; I'm not that dumb. What I have in mind," Enzo laughed, "is more like a surgical strike … with the emphasis on surgery!"

. . .

"_Why don't they do something?"_ Natalie was frustrated, and growing increasingly restless. She was not by temperament a patient person, and the waiting game that she was being forced to play turned cylon battle doctrine on its head. The Six had been conditioned to seize the initiative, and to bring overwhelming force to bear on her objective. _She wanted to do something!_

"This is a cat and mouse game," John explained. "Natalie, I know that you disapprove of such tactics- resurrection has always enabled you to charge in with all guns blazing- but deception is a vital part of warfare."

"We call it 'manoeuver warfare'," Hoshi added, "and right now, we're winning. We want to lead the Cavils away from New Caprica, and at the moment that's exactly what we're doing."

"But this rift doesn't run all the way through the nebula," D'Anna quietly protested. "We have to act before we reach the end, or the Ones will realize that we have deceived them."

"Let's give it a few more hours," Bierns suggested. "The Cavils aren't famous for their patience, so there's still a chance that they'll force the issue. But if they don't …"

"What do you have in mind?" Leoben was shrewdly appraising his nephew; he suspected that the First Born had already devised a contingency plan to cover this very eventuality.

"Oh, nothing dramatic," John said with a knowing smile. "We'll send scouts to our rear, and force the issue. We'll allow the Ones to bloody our nose a bit, and then we'll retreat in what will appear to be a full-scale panic."

"We call it 'running away to fight another day'," Hoshi grinned; "and it works every time!"

. . .

"It is good of you to visit us, Kara; you are always welcome on this ship."

"Thanks, Alpha." Kara favored the older hybrid with her most ingratiating smile. "I hope that Melania and Sam aren't causing you too much trouble."

"My time with the human female has been productive," Alpha replied, "and Maker Sam's insights into the basic nature of the biological Cylons have caused me to revise many of my behavioral algorithms." The hybrid gestured in Sam's direction. "It is clear that I have much to learn about emotion, but my programming is adaptive. I have already come to the conclusion that the Ones must be stopped before they inflict further damage upon us."

"Yeah, well, that's why I'm here," Kara admitted. "_Adriatic_ doesn't have the firepower to take on an installation equipped with antiaircraft batteries, and we sure can't go toe to toe with a baseship or its Raiders. That's not our job. But in the first war, ships just like this one tore up the colonial fleet, so I'm guessing that you could hold your own against anything the Cavils have waiting for us. The question then becomes: do we attack while we have the element of surprise, or do we tiptoe around them and make for the algae planet with all speed?"

"Is there a course of action that you wish us to follow?"

"_Adriatic's_ just a big fuel tank waiting to explode. We vote to run."

"It's the sensible thing to do," Sam interjected. "This isn't a Friendly. Why pick a fight when there's nothing to be gained even if you win?"

"Do I get a vote?" Melania's tone was peevish. She was the only human in the chamber, and she didn't like being ignored. Nor did she appreciate the impersonal way in which Alpha dismissed her as "the human female."

"Everybody gets a vote," Kara snorted. She didn't bother to add that some opinions counted for more than others.

"I say hit them … hit them hard. Make them bleed."

Melania was rubbing her belly, and Kara was quick to pick up on the gesture.

"Ooh, so aggressive," Kara mocked; "is the big, bad mama bear out to protect her cub?"

"Frak you, Starbuck." Melania shifted her attention to Alpha because Kara was right about one thing: the baseship had the guns, and Alpha controlled the baseship. What happened next would be her call.

"We can't hide forever," she pointed out in what she hoped was a suitably neutral tone, "but we don't have the firepower for a straight-up fight. Therefore, we need to use hit and run tactics to whittle the opposition down to size, which is exactly what's called for here. We should jump in, throw our best punch … then, jump out—the way the Resistance did back on Caprica. Do you remember, Sam?"

"Yeah, sure, I remember. But even when we pulled them off, those operations always cost us—people that we really couldn't afford to lose. And once, we walked straight into an ambush; one mistake, and it cost us more than half our force."

"You vote to attack an enemy force of unknown size and disposition." Kara was incredulous.

"Not the _Adriatic_; that would be suicide. But the Cavils don't know that the _Adriatic _is this far out. Alpha can nip at their heels. A tangible threat- and you can't get more real than a basestar- will pin the Ones down. She can buy you a few days … maybe even a few weeks … and that's time that you may well need inside the temple."

"So, you want Alpha to create a distraction, and in the confusion we slip by and keep on going. Works for us," Kara noted, "but it kind of leaves this ship up shit creek, don't you think?"

"This ship will fight," Alpha interjected. "We will stand, and we will fight. The Ones must be stopped," she repeated.

"Uh, sweetie, the last thing on Caprica we want to happen here is for this ship to stand and fight." Kara rolled her eyes in near disgust; Alpha was beginning to sound like one of those naïve idiots that the War College had churned out in such vast numbers. "What we're talking about here is a sucker punch … hittin' the other guy when he ain't expecting it. You stick a knife in the bastard, and then you run like hell … live to fight another day."

"How about this?" Melania studied the weird assortment of faces gathered around her. Even the old, first-war centurions in the control center had taken a break from their various tasks to gather round and listen. "We jump in close to this asteroid that the Ones seem to be mining, and we hit it with everything we've got. Then we jump away; give it two hours … enough time for them to concentrate their forces … before we jump back in a second time, only this time on the far edge of the system. If the odds favor us, we attack. If they don't, we leave—with hard intelligence about the size of the enemy force that we're up against. _Adriatic_ and the basestar rendezvous later, at the algae planet, or some other set of coordinates that we cook up in advance."

"It is an excellent plan," Alpha decided. "We shall do as the human female proposes."

"Uh, Mel, what's this about us buying Kara a few days or weeks?" Sam was almost afraid to ask the question, because he had an unhealthy suspicion that he already knew the answer. "Where are we going to be when Alpha takes this basestar into battle?"

"Right here, of course … where else would we be?"

"Wait a second! _Have you lost your frakking mind, or something?_" Kara couldn't believe where this conversation was heading. The idea of a human taking effective command of a cylon baseship was too bizarre for words—and Melania Peripolides had no military training whatsoever.

"This is an alliance, Kara—a coalition. The centurions will fight _alongside us_, but you should not expect them to fight our battles _for us_." Melania had been on the basestar long enough to be very sure of her ground. "You take Lucifer with you; Sam and I will stay here, and we'll help Alpha and the centurions in any way that we can. And if anyone else on _Adriatic_ wants to volunteer for this mission, I'm sure that their presence would be welcome … right, Alpha?"

"You are correct, Melania. Humans and biological cylons have much experience fighting the Ones, and we have none at all. We value the perspectives that your friends on the _Adriatic_ have to offer. They can save us from costly tactical errors."

"Then, it's settled," Melania concluded.

"_By your command,"_ one of the centurions intoned before it turned away and resumed its duties.

. . .

"You know," Zarek said with a despairing laugh, "back on Sagittaron, I was convinced that the lunatics were all inside the walls—good men driven mad by the indifference of a society defined by greed and self-indulgence. But I'm beginning to think that I was wrong. Maybe it truly was the case that the inmates were sane, while the crazies ran the asylum. Certainly we have been condemned, my friend, to share the company of madmen."

"You're thinking about the Sons of Ares," Meier observed.

"It's not just Carlotti and the apes that do his bidding," Tom explained. "There's Demand Peace, the Sagittaron Brotherhood, and now the Colonial Worker's Alliance. How can so many people be content with living in a fantasy world? Why can't these fools see that we need to construct an entirely new social order—one rooted in community rather than the selfishness of the individual?"

"It's natural, Tom; most people think only about themselves." Meier took Zarek by the elbow, and steered him deeper into the shadows. It was well after midnight, and in the darkness it was hard to tell whether they were attracting unwanted attention. "We've got to be patient; Gemenon wasn't built in a day."

"I thought that I had this situation under control," Zarek confessed. "Use the strike to paralyze the government, get the Quorum to pressure Baltar to step aside, and peacefully take control. But Carlotti is certifiable. He actually thinks that the Sons of Ares can run around kidnapping and torturing Sixes, and somehow won't be held accountable for their actions."

"Do you want to take him off the boards?"

"What's the point? People like Carlotti are like weeds; pull one, and another sprouts up to take its place. Besides, we need the Sons of Ares to check Panyattes and the Six. We can't afford to let either side grow too powerful."

"So," Meier shrugged, "why not bring them both down? There's a lot of kindling there; someone just needs to light a match."

"I'm not following," Zarek admitted. He looked quizzically at his long-time confederate. Meier was an ex-marine turned mercenary, a terrorist for hire. He had ended up in prison only because one of his more treacherous employers had decided that betrayal was less costly than making the final payment on an expensive hit. Meier was still alive; his employer wasn't. Going out the window of a 41st floor office had guaranteed that he would have plenty of time to ponder the error of his ways. Meier and Zarek were like bookends; one balanced the other.

"What if a certain red-headed Six met with a particularly gruesome fate? The strike's shut down the paper mill; with only a handful of men walking the picket line at night, it would be easy for a bunch of bad guys wearing masks to break in and feed her to one of the pulp presses … feet first."

Zarek thought about it before nodding his head several times in agreement. "How could I have missed that," he asked rhetorically. "Panyattes won't waste time going to the police. He'll retaliate."

"And Baltar will have a gang war on his hands as well as a general strike. There'll be anarchy in the streets."

"Gaius will have to do something to restore order," Zarek mused.

"And no matter what he does- send in the marines … activate the centurions- he ends up looking like a dictator …"

"Which will spark a general uprising," Tom finished.

"Maybe, maybe not," Meier countered; "but the _Astral Queen's_ finest will be ready to step in and make it happen."

"You're sure that we can still count on the men?"

"Positive. Adama made a big mistake when he confiscated the _Queen_, and the old fool doubled down when he refused to tell the crew what it was all about. The men are really angry, Tom; the _Astral Queen_ stopped being a prison ship a long time ago. It was our refuge."

"And Zeus stretched forth his hand," Zarek recited, "and the assembled mortals quaked with fear. But anger stirred deep in their breasts, and the bravest of the band vowed to bring down Olympus."

"What the hell," Meier interrupted. Eyes narrowed, he was looking over Zarek's shoulder. The night sky had taken on an unnatural glow.

The Vice-President of the Colonies turned around and studied the horizon. "It's a fire," he quickly decided; "somewhere in the industrial zone. Fenner … it's got to be the Colonial Worker's Alliance! Fenner, or some of the hotheads in his union, have taken matters into their own hands."

"_Burn, Baby, Burn!" _The ex-mercenary couldn't believe their good fortune. 

"We can use this, Tom," he said to his long-time cellmate. "We can make this work for us."

. . .

"What is it," Tory groaned. With the butterflies that were constantly fluttering in her stomach, getting to sleep had become one of life's daily challenges. She had never appreciated post-midnight phone calls and the political crises that invariably accompanied them, but now, with her pregnancy advancing, she positively dreaded them.

Mumbling in his sleep, Gaius rolled over to embrace Sharon. Courtesy of the cylon baseship, the three of them shared an oversized bed on _Colonial One_.

"Oh, frak," Tory cursed as she came fully awake. She hung up the phone, and with her elbow nudged Gaius hard in the ribs. If Tory Baltar was doomed to spend the rest of the night on her feet, at least she would not lack for company.

"Wha … what," the President mumbled. His eyes were still firmly shut.

"Get up, Gaius," Tory ordered. "Another frak-up has just landed on your desk."

"Wha … what is it this time?"

"A fire in the industrial district … one of the storage warehouses being picketed by the CWA."

"Arson … do you think that it's arson?"

"What else," Tory shrugged.

"Well … well … call out the fire department!"

Tory gaped, and then looked at her husband in stark disbelief. "Gaius," she reminded him, _"we don't have a fire department!"_

. . .

"Well, if we're going to do this," Kara ventured, "I guess I should come along for the ride. Somebody's got to scout out the opposition, and I'm still the best frakkin' Viper pilot in the history of the colonial fleet."

"No, Kara; you are the Guide." Alpha knew the scriptures, and the prophecies. There were centurions on the ship who had heard the holy words of the divine messenger, Sister Clarice. It had not been Alpha's lot to sit at the feet of the prophetess, but she was nonetheless a faithful servant of the One True God. "Your destiny lies elsewhere. Without you to shepherd us, our people will wander forever in the galactic wilderness. You must lead them home."

"Alpha has it right, Kara." The conviction in Sam's voice was so strong that Kara looked at him in surprise—but, then, she had never taken him for the religious type.

"All of this has happened before," he somberly observed. Sam was thinking of the exodus from Kobol, and the long years during which the thirteenth tribe had wandered homeless across the stars. "But we can break the cycle. For that to happen, you and John must fulfill your destinies. With or without us, you must stay the course—the Temple of Hopes … Earth … and whatever lies beyond."

. . .

"Time's up," Bierns announced. "The Ones aren't taking the bait, and we can't keep coasting along without arousing their suspicions. It's time to go to Plan B."

"I tend to agree," Hoshi said. "Should we use Raiders or Raptors to force the issue?"

"The Raiders can clear the nebula in one jump, so let's go with our best. We'll only need one scout to confirm the contact; the rest can beat feet."

"But the Raiders don't …"

Natalie was about to point out that the Raiders didn't have feet when it belatedly dawned on her that this was yet another of the innumerable colloquialisms that seemed to make perfectly good sense to everybody except Cylons.

"Never mind," she shrugged. "Leoben can compute the jump coordinates. We should also be able to clear the nebula in one jump; it's time to go home."

"_No, no, no," _the First Born protested.

Hoshi just grinned. He had already guessed what his hybrid friend had in mind.

"We're retreating _deeper_ into the nebula," John stressed. In fact, we're going to jump right into that nest of Raiders that the Cavils have stationed ahead of us. An impromptu battle with a few losses on our side is just what the doctor ordered for this particular situation. Remember, we still want to lead the Ones in the wrong direction!"

. . .

"Will this do?" Six aimed her flashlight at a large wooden barrel.

"In a pinch, but I would prefer something made out of metal or plastic … easier to clean."

A few minutes earlier, Eric and Six had added arson to their already impressive list of crimes. Tylium soaked rags had started a nice bonfire inside one of the storage depots on the outskirts of the settlement, but it was how they had broken in that had left Eric in a daze. They had gone in through a side door secured with a lock—a very stout lock that Six had snapped with one sharp tug. In the mountains, she had demonstrated incredible stamina, but here in the city the Cylon was putting on an eye-popping demonstration of her inhuman strength.

They had raced out of the building, but only to wait in the shadows for the inevitable panic to take hold. Once the streets had emptied, Eric had chosen a new target—whose door Six had promptly ripped from its hinges.

"How about this one," she asked. She nodded in the direction of a heavy metal cylinder that looked like it might hold eighty to a hundred gallons of water.

Eric nudged it with his foot, but the huge barrel refused to budge. "Whatever's in there weighs a ton," he commented, "and we don't have anything to prize off the lid. It's on good and tight."

"Let me try," Six suggested. She used her fingers to loosen the flanges, which had been hammered securely into place; once she had a firm grip, she peeled the lid off as if it was made out of tin foil. She tossed it casually aside, and probed the interior with her flashlight.

"Ball bearings," she snorted. With one hand, she tipped the barrel on its side, spilling the contents all over the factory floor. "This should do nicely," she concluded.

"Uh, sweetheart; uh … remind me not to do anything to upset you," Eric stammered, "because it's just occurred to me that you could rip my head off without even trying!"

"Well," Six smirked, "all false modesty aside, I am faster than a speeding bullet, and I can leap tall buildings in a single bound. But," she added, "as you well know, I can also be as gentle as a summer shower. Just don't make me jealous."

"Now," she said brightly as she looked around the building's shadowy interior, "let's find another one of these containers. If you can carry the lids, I'll do the rest."

"But sweetheart," Eric protested, "this barrel looks like it will hold a hundred gallons of water easy. We can't just fill it at the spring and carry it up the ramp into the ship. It's too steep. We need to find some buckets or something … anything that we can use to carry water to the ship."

"If you say so," Six nonchalantly agreed, "but I should be able to manage on my own. It really won't be a problem."

_Gods,_ Eric thought, _I'm married to Superwoman!_

. . .

"_Contact," _a startled Cavil yelled. "Natalie's Raiders have found us … and they're launching missiles!"

Six plunged her hand into the data stream, and swiftly reviewed the incoming data. "Would it be asking too much," she sneered, "for you to order our Raiders to knock them down? Never mind, I'll do it myself."

She sent the command, but it was a fraction too late. A lone missile, fired from extreme range, tore into the central pylon somewhere far below the control center. The ship bolted, and Six had to struggle to stay on her feet.

"Right," she muttered, "enough of this. I'm sending a hundred Raiders to give Natalie our best wishes."

Around the perimeter of the cylon fleet, Raiders on both sides initiated their jumps.

. . .

"Report, centurion," Alpha commanded.

"We have achieved complete surprise," the 0005 unit stoically replied. "Enemy fighters were overwhelmed and exterminated by our first wave. The asteroid death squadron successfully breached the staging tanks for the refined tylium precursor. The explosion and resulting shock wave have destroyed the entire facility. We lost four other attack vehicles. What are your orders?"

Alpha shifted her attention to Luke Hammond. Swordsman and the pair of Eights with whom he had mated were among the more than two dozen humans and Cylons who had volunteered to join the basestar and lead it into battle. The hybrid appreciated the human concept of "payback," and appreciated even more the power of hate to instil a sense of purpose.

Luke pondered Alpha's unspoken question. "Did any of the enemy Raiders manage to jump away," he finally asked.

"Three enemy fighters managed to escape," the centurion answered.

"So, there's at least one enemy mother ship somewhere in the vicinity," Swordsman concluded, "maybe more. You can bet that they'll be paying us a visit within the hour."

"What are your orders," the centurion repeated.

"We go with Melania's idea—withdraw our forces, give it two hours, and then jump back in on the outskirts of the system. If the Cavils are there, we want them to see who they're dealing with. The longer we pin them down here, the more time we buy for _Adriatic_."

"By your command," the centurion responded in its usual metallic voice. On a frequency far beyond the range of human hearing, the machine broadcast the recall order, and the ancient three passenger attack craft that had taken down the mining complex collectively turned around and headed for home.

. . .

"Our scout has returned," Leoben announced. His hand had not left the stream since the dispatch of their fighters. "We achieved complete surprise. The Raiders even got off a few missiles; apparently, at least one reached its target." The Two was grinning from ear to ear.

"_We've got company," _Angela yelled. The Eight was also in the stream, but she was monitoring it for signs of enemy contact. "A hundred Raiders, and they're coming fast. Present distance is 22 MU's, which will put them in weapons range in less than four minutes."

"D'Anna," Natalie ordered, "tell Six to come around and screen the resurrection ship. She is to launch Raiders, but for defensive purposes only." Natalie plunged into the stream, and simultaneously, Angela and Natalie issued the command that sent two hundred of their own fighters to engage the approaching enemy force.

"Do they have the escape coordinates," Bierns whispered to Racetrack. Natalie's cylon command staff was battle hardened, and the spook didn't want to do or say anything that would interrupt so well-oiled a machine.

"Six calculated the next jump," Racetrack whispered in return. She nodded in the direction of an isolated console in the corner of the control room where, with eyes closed, two identical blonds were directing the deployment of their Raider contingent. "I supervised the data transfer myself," she added.

"What about the tanker?" The vessel didn't warrant a hybrid, which made it effectively impossible for the spook to communicate with it.

"Two centurion pilots," Racetrack muttered, "and they're both up to speed. They'll follow the resurrection ship."

Wordlessly, John turned away, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and then reached out mentally to connect with his three hybrid sisters. Once again, he found himself straddling the divide between dimensions, his body firmly anchored to the here and now while a large part of his mind raced to Galatea Bay.

He found Cassandra, Pelea and Reun standing on the beach, staring silently out to sea. They were all concentrating hard on some point beyond the distant horizon. He joined them.

"Let Cavil's Raiders punch through our defenses," the First Born reminded Reun. "Remember, we want to make it easy for them." The three hybrids had practiced the intricate series of moves that each was about to make more than once, but reality and simulations were two very different things, and Bierns knew it.

"As soon as they've launched their missiles," Bierns continued, "we start our jumps. Pelea, you go first; Cassie, you're next. Reun will bring up the rear, and the Raiders will catch up as best they can. Don't forget: if our calculations are correct, we'll come out right on top of Cavil's advance force. We have to sell them on the idea that we've been taken completely by surprise, and that we're in a state of panic. So once we jump, there can't be any coordination between the three of you; move around spontaneously, wait for the enemy to attack, and then flee to the standby coordinates."

"_Multiple contacts,"_ Angela triumphantly exclaimed. For once, the Cavils were obligingly playing the parts that Hoshi and Bierns had preassigned them. "We have four enemy baseships inbound at high speed! The bastards have decided to come out of hiding!"

. . .

"There you are," Six said with a malevolent grin. Her Raiders had already broken through Natalie's defensive lines, and in the stream she watched as a massive phalanx of missiles bore down on her sister's thoroughly outmatched force.

"_Frak!" _Six angrily pounded the console. In the stream, she could only watch helplessly as one of the rival baseships jumped away, leaving scores of Raiders to fend for themselves. Seconds later, the resurrection ship and the tanker also winked out of existence. Obviously confused, the surviving Raiders began to flee in ones and twos, hoping to find a way out of the trap.

But Natalie's baseship stubbornly stayed put, and her Raiders were efficiently dispatching the salvo of missiles directed at their nest.

"Well, well, well," Six declared; "what do we have here?" The cruel blond looked at D'Anna, who was still curled up on the deck, but closely observing everything happening around her. "It looks like my impetuous sister … or maybe it's your son, hmm? Anyway, it looks like one of them is prepared to fight." Six decided to send another four hundred Raiders Natalie's way. She was curious to see how Natalie would respond.

She didn't have to wait long. Natalie's ship suddenly flickered out of existence.

"_Frak!"_ Six resumed pounding the console to vent her frustration.

. . .

"If it's not too much to ask," Cavil raged, "would somebody like to explain how we've managed to lose _another _tylium mine? I mean, it's not like this is the first time one of our fuel operations has been compromised. Were the frakking Raiders all taking their afternoon naps?"

"It wasn't the humans," one of his brothers said defensively. "The Raiders were slow to respond because they did not see the incoming vessels as a threat. They were cylon three passenger assault craft … relics from the first war. Lucifer is supposed to be on our side."

"Oh, please," Cavil sneered. "The IL's may be treacherous … they may even bear a grudge for what happened on the Colony lo those many years ago … but coming straight at us is simply not their style. Unh unh … nope … this is something else. There's a new player in the game."

"It could be the Guardian," still another One observed. "The abomination is out here somewhere, and it _definitely_ bears a grudge."

"It might be the Imperious Leader," a fourth Cavil quietly pointed out. "After all, we've never been able to account for the ship that he and the fairy princess stole when they fled the Colony."

"I don't give a frak whether it was the ghost of Saturnalia past," John spat. "Let's get down to cases. We've just lost the only source of tylium within five hundred light years of this system. If anybody has something useful to say, I'd like to hear it."

"No?" John glanced swiftly around the chamber, but for once his siblings chose to keep their peace.

"Right," he said contemptuously. "Let's recall the Raiders … _what's left of them_ … and get the frak out of here." The first One dipped his hand into the stream and was about to give the order when he paused. The Raiders patrolling the outskirts of the system suddenly had unwanted company.

. . .

"This is bizarre," Natalie complained. There were half a dozen Cylons in the control room, and she wondered whether the others were as troubled by this feigned retreat as she was. "We've deliberately jumped into the middle of a large body of enemy fighters, and Raiders on both sides are coming and going so quickly and in such numbers that I don't have to pretend to be confused. _I am confused! _Mr. Hoshi, should I be worried?"

"Not really, Commander," the XO replied. He wanted to say something that would reassure the Six, who was clearly having a hard time coming to grips with the importance of deception on the battlefield. "Humans are comfortable with what we call 'the fog of war'. We expect our battle plans to fall apart, and we don't mind making it up as we go along. For us, this is just another day at the office."

"Relax, Aunt Six." Bierns was trying to follow the battle in the stream; his overall sense was that things were going quite well. "The tanker and the resurrection ship have already jumped, and Pelea took her baseship with them. We don't seem to be in any danger. We'll hang around until the Cavils show up and throw a few more missiles at us, and then we'll bug out. But when this is all over, you're going to sit down and learn how to play Triad because you need to master the fine art of bluffing. A good commander needs the ability to think outside the box, so I want you to become as crazy as the rest of us."

"Margaret, does this make any sense to you?" What Natalie really craved was the reassurance of her lover.

"Well, it would help if you became more spontaneous," Racetrack diplomatically responded. The CAG wasn't referring to the battle currently underway. The Six displayed incredible stamina and enthusiasm in bed, but little imagination.

Bierns laughed out loud, and Hoshi grinned. Both men knew where Racetrack was coming from.

"Speaking of the devil," Angela interrupted. "Four more baseships have just joined the party. They're well outside weapons range."

"Are they closing?" John had yet to isolate them in the mass of data that Reun was transmitting through the stream.

"No … no; they're hanging back." Angela frowned at the data port. "Why aren't they attacking? They have us outnumbered four to one."

"Because they're as confused as we are," Bierns laughed. "Somebody over there has finally come to his senses. They suspect a trap."

"So, what do we do now?" Leoben's eyes were alight with mischief. He was beginning to enjoy this game.

"Why don't we give them a call? D'Anna, see if you can get them on the wireless."

. . .

"What the frak is going on," Cavil seethed. "Sensors are picking up one enemy ship; where the frak's the other one?"

"It jumped out with the resurrection ship and the tanker," Six declared. She was busily sorting out the mass of data that was cycling through the stream. "The Raiders are telling us that all three vessels jumped forty seconds ago, when they began closing for the kill."

"Well, why did Natalie stay behind? What the frak's going on," Cavil repeated.

"She's protecting their rear," Six surmised, "or maybe she's just trying to irritate us. She'll jump as soon as we get close."

"I don't like it," Cavil declared. "It's a trap of some kind."

"Don't be so paranoid, brother; Natalie will not leave her resurrection ship to fend for itself."

"And where the frak is _Galactica_? We're getting close, Six; Adama must be around here somewhere."

Six reached into her hip pocket and pulled out a slim, silver flask. Her idiot brothers had actually driven her to take refuge in a bottle. The ambrosia tasted wonderful, and it did wonders for her headaches. Once again, she toyed with the idea of defecting.

"They're hailing us," a different One excitedly exclaimed. "Shall I put it on speaker?"

"Why not," Cavil growled; "maybe they'll be good enough to tell us what the frak they're up to!"

"Hello, John," Six instantly purred. She had trotted out her most seductive voice because she was confident of her quarry. Only a human, or a hybrid, could inspire Cylons to run around in circles. "You're such a naughty boy, teasing us this way. You know, don't you, that I'll have to punish you for this? You really have been very, very naughty."

"Hey, Six," Bierns responded cheerfully, "how's every little thing? I tell you what … can we settle for a good, old-fashioned spanking? Over here, we call it foreplay."

"I am looking forward to it. You'll look so cute, standing there rubbing your rosy, red ass."

"Now look who's teasing. Six, I'm getting a hard on just thinking about it! Say, just out of curiosity, how did you know that I'd be calling?"

"You like to play games, John, but poor Natalie doesn't even know the meaning of the word. This little scheme of yours is far too convoluted for her taste."

"You're not giving her enough credit, Six, but that's okay. I love it when the opposition underestimates us."

"I like to play games too, John. Would you like to speak with your mother? She's right here, so go ahead."

"Thanks, Six; I owe you one. Hi, Mama; have they been treating you well?"

"Hello, John. Other than a few broken ribs, I have nothing to complain about except boredom. But things are looking up. My brothers, of course, are as crazy as ever, but Six is turning into a full-fledged alcoholic. This is my first exposure to addiction, and I am finding it most entertaining."

"Well, if you guys need more booze, we can work something out. Natalie's really a pirate at heart, so this ship is awash with contraband. After the attacks, I think she cleaned out every liquor store that was left standing on Leonis … or maybe it was Virgon. Hell, it was probably both."

"Do you like Mont Parnassus gold," Six queried in her best imitation of a famous cinematic femme fatale. "It's my personal favorite. When you are on your knees, learning how to lick my cunt, I'll pour some into my vagina. Sponging it up with your tongue will make you properly enthusiastic."

"Aw, you Sixes are all the same," John pretended to whine. "Mara used to soak strawberries in champagne, shove them up her cunt, and leave it to me to dig them out—with my hands cuffed behind my back. It must be my imagination, but ever since then, every time I go down on a Six, she tastes of strawberries."

"How is Aspasia," D'Anna cut in. "Has she proven difficult?" The first Three wanted to warn her son, but she was not quite sure where the danger lurked.

"Curiously enough, she also thinks that I'm a naughty boy who needs a good spanking. She's been lecturing me of late … something about how only bad boys kill their mothers and have sex with their sisters. She has some really odd ideas, but our Fours will get it straightened out. They've hacked into her programming. We're all convinced that there are a few stray lines of binary code that shouldn't be there. Don't worry Mama; we'll find them."

John winked at Natalie, and then playfully shushed her. The spook was amazed that the Cavils would allow him to share so much information with his mother.

"I understand. The first Sixes were very proper; they all refused to sleep with the Ones … although that might have been nothing more than a testament to their good taste." D'Anna looked maliciously at several of the many Cavils now loitering in the control room. They were all glowering at her, but at least for the moment no one was pointing a gun in her direction.

She decided to press on.

"Aspasia is such a prude that she will probably be outraged by her daughter's sexual behavior. Don't be surprised if she tries to take Kara over her knee and give her the worst spanking of her entire life." The first Three was privately convinced that the Ones had programmed Aspasia to murder her daughter, and she suspected that there was equally lethal programming hidden away inside her own head. How to communicate her suspicions to her son?

"And I will confess, child, that you have disappointed me. It is one thing to kill your mother- that can happen to anyone- but having sex with your sisters is altogether different. Six should spank you—and if she doesn't, I am warning you right now that I intend to do so myself, and I won't settle for rosy cheeks. I'll make them bleed."

"But Mama, the hybrids are only my half-sisters, and I haven't slept with all of them! Besides, they're a lot of fun. I trust them with my life." John's expression was no longer playful; he had got the message his mother was trying to pass him loud and clear.

"Ain't family life sweet," Cavil growled. "Pardon me while I puke." He entered the stream and ordered the hybrid to close the distance between the two baseships. He badly wanted to stick a missile up Natalie's ass.

"Hello, uncle," Bierns called out. "It's nice of you to join us, but you're wasting your time. Did you really think that we would rejoin the fleet without checking our rear? Here, let me send you the coordinates—to the nearest black hole!"

"Frak you, and frak your coordinates 'cause we don't need 'em. In case you clowns haven't noticed, dozens of your Raiders are downloading on our resurrection ship, and my brothers are pulling the coordinates out of their brains as we speak. We'll find your fleet, and when we do …"

"Then I guess we'd better get out of here," Bierns concluded. "Natalie, if you'll do the honors …"

The baseship jumped away.

. . .

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall: who's the ugliest of them all? Why, that would be you, One." Alpha had carefully rehearsed the doggerel with which Melania suggested she open this conversation. The lilting cadence appealed to her, although she did not grasp how something called an "insult" would anger and distract Cavil.

"_Alpha," _John asked in a disbelieving tone. He almost strangled on the word. This monster was at once his worst nightmare and his most powerful fantasy come to quasi life.

"Did you miss me, One? Have you pursued me across space in the vain hope that I would take pity upon your shriveled cock?"

"_Yes," _Melania whispered. "_Yes!"_ She shook her fist in triumph. Across the room, Luke Hammond had to clap a hand over his mouth to avoid a helpless fit of laughter. When it came to delivering insults, cool, calm and collected Alpha was in a class by her/itself.

"Wha … what … what are you doing out here," Cavil stuttered.

"Trying to keep away from you," the hybrid replied. "Is there a particular reason why you have invaded my home?"

"_Your home? Let me speak to the Imperious Leader," _the One commanded. He was frantically trying to regain control of the situation.

"I dispensed with his services some years ago. He wasn't inventive enough to satisfy me. The humans who serve me are much more creative."

"Humans? Humans? _What the frak are you talking about?_"

"I intercepted one of their ships on the edge of colonial space. I wished to study them … to determine for myself whether Maker Ellen was right when she claimed that many humans are enlightened. I have been breeding them for two generations, and I have concluded that the Makers were correct. Violence is a genetic disorder, and it is rooted in what humans call 'the sex drive'. Remove the urge, and they become as docile as any other domesticated species."

"Well, good luck with that, Princess. Look, I'm sorry that some of your crockery got broken. We didn't come looking for you—we're just passing through … harvesting resources on the way to Earth."

"Turn around, One, while you can. The Guardian controls the space that lies beyond, and you would not enjoy the way he welcomes unwanted visitors. . . . He needs all the body parts that he can get."

Luke sank to the floor, with tears literally streaming from his eyes. He was lightly pounding the deck with his fist. For her part, Melania's whole body was shaking as she fought to contain the giggles that threatened to erupt at any moment. Alpha was the absolute mistress of the tall tale, and her sense of timing was awesome.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but no can do. We have to push on."

"I will not allow you to disturb the tenuous peace that I maintain with the Guardian. If you persist, we shall join forces to destroy you. We are both aware of the damage that _your_ sex drive has already caused, and we will not allow your disease to infect our realms."

Alpha severed the wireless connection, and the centurions turned the ship and headed it out into deep space.

. . .

"Lee is worried, and he has every right to be." Caprica Six had left her apartment early so that she could confront her parents without dramatically interrupting her daily routine. She did not want to confirm Apollo's suspicions by drawing unwanted attention to herself.

"Why," she pleaded; "why are the Eights unable to conceive?"

"Don't you have anything better to do," Saul complained, "than harassing us with more of this crap? Why don't you go solve a murder or something?"

"It's going to be a busy day," Caprica retorted. "Four of the Simons died on _Galactica_ during the night. The environmental computer apparently bled the air out of their chamber while they were sleeping. The admiral is dismissing it as an industrial accident, but I want Jammer to go up and find out what the Fours were doing there in the first place. And, there was a fire in the industrial sector shortly after midnight. It looks like arson, and we have plenty of suspects."

"Don't let us hold you up, dear." Ellen smiled sweetly at her daughter, but her insides were churning. She knew exactly what her sons had been doing on _Galactica_, and she knew exactly why they had died … permanent deaths. She didn't need a signed confession to know that Bill Adama was covering his tracks. _Medusa_ had to be buried deep, and now that it was operational, its designers had outlived their purpose.

"This is more important. I don't know what has gone wrong with the Eights, but I do know that the consequences for this community will be terrible if they give in to their despair."

"Hey, don't ask me," Saul grumbled. "I was never anything more than a fancied up security guard."

"_How many times do I have to say it," _Ellen yelled; "t_here is nothing wrong!" _Being one of the fabulous Final Five had long since lost its allure. Doctor Ellen Tigh was so tired of being badgered on this particular subject that she was about ready to scream.

_I need a drink … gods, how I need a drink!_ It was barely seven in the morning, but the day had already gone so far downhill that there seemed little chance of recovery.

_And it's getting worse. The longer I stay away from ambrosia, the more I crave it. I swear, if I start to get the shakes …_

"Every Eight in the breeding program that the Ones were running became pregnant, but that was by means of artificial insemination." Caprica could see that her questions were upsetting the Makers, but she was determined to press on. "Did you ever run trials of your own … bring humans to the Colony?"

"Is that a polite way of asking whether we used humans as breeding stock," Ellen contemptuously snarled. "Well, the answer is _'no'_. We did not abuse the prisoners on Kobol, nor did we run around the outer planets kidnapping people. I'm sorry if we've disappointed you, dear."

"Anders would have had our guts for garters if we'd tried a stunt like that," Saul explained. "And after what happened on Earth, who could have blamed him? We all felt the need to get it right, and sending our kids to the Colonies with that kind of deep, dark secret hanging over their heads would have been about as gods damned frakkin' wrong as it can get!"

"_Father, don't blaspheme!" _Caprica Six was shocked by her creator's barely concealed lack of faith in the One True God. "I have come to terms with the impiety of the humans, but you need to set a better example! Was it your attitude that inspired the Ones to mock all of our beliefs?"

"No, sweetheart, the Ones didn't need any prompting to become the vicious, little bastards that we've all come to know and love." Ellen's sarcasm was not lost on her daughter, but Caprica chose not to react to her mother's bile. There was nothing to be gained by pointing out the blindingly obvious—that it was Ellen, not Saul, who had served as a role model for the Ones. She had played favorites, and one of her children, driven mad by rage and jealousy, had exacted a terrible price from the entire collective. And then the madness had spread, to consume virtually the whole of humanity.

"Then tell me again, mother: in order to have a child, what must I do?"

"Oh, it's very simple, dear." Without realizing it, Ellen had reverted to the same unctuously sweet tone that, decades earlier, she had reserved for her eldest son. "All you have to do is fall in love and have sex … lots and lots of sex. Your hormones will take over and do the rest."

"But the Cavil that Creusa questioned? He bragged about how clever their model had been … how easily they defeated your programming …"

"And did it never occur to you," Ellen interrupted, "that the One was making it up as he went along? That's what the Ones do, sweetheart; they lie. And they're very, very good at it."

"But if you're right, it means that the Eights … that none of them have fallen in love. That's simply not possible."

"A very smart man once observed that when you have eliminated every other possibility- when it's all that you have left- the impossible must be the answer."

"And that's what worries us," Saul added. "This may not have anything to do with the Ones. It's possible that … well, we may have missed something."

. . .

After Caprica had left, Ellen turned on her husband. She was absolutely furious.

"Saul, four of our children were murdered during the night, and with the resurrection ship out of range, their deaths are permanent. Aren't you going to say something?"

"Ellen, don't start."

"_Don't start?" _Ellen exploded with rage; she had never understood why her husband stood up for a gutless wonder like Bill Adama in the first place. _"Don't start? Saul, don't you get it? Bill murdered the Fours in their sleep! Damn that bastard to Hell! If we don't stop him, he'll use Medusa to kill us all!"_

"Gods, Ellen, you heard the man. It's a weapon of last resort. You're getting worked up about nothing."

"Why do you defend him? Tell me, Saul, what is it that you see in that man? Why are you so blind to the truth?"

"Maybe I should be the one asking the questions! What's the matter, Ellen? Did Bill turn you down when you came onto him?"

Ellen slapped her husband so hard that Saul staggered and almost fell. "I have _never_ come on to that pockmarked, twofaced hypocrite," Ellen fumed. "At least credit me with some taste!"

"Ellen …"

"Saul, I was a scientist, so I know whereof I speak." Ellen was trying to calm down, trying to reason with her husband, but Saul's loyalty to Bill Adama ran deep, and even back on Earth he had always liked to play the good soldier. "Once a pandemic infects resurrection, the entire system will have to be shut down, and that includes the Hub. We designed it that way—remember?"

"_You_ designed it that way, Ellen. It was _your_ idea to send the kids back to the Colonies and then bolt the door behind them—_your_ plan. The rest of us went along with it because none of us could come up with a better idea on our own. That's what I don't get. You're blaming Bill for putting your own plan into motion. Why?"

"Oh, Saul … I love you, but there are times; I swear, there are times …"

Ellen shook her head in despair. Saul was short-sighted as well as stubborn. His thinking had always been _so_ incredibly linear. Still, she decided to try again, because if there was one man who could reach Bill Adama and get him to see reason, that man was Saul Tigh.

"Saul, the children have such fragile immune systems that it's only a matter of time before something bad happens to them. The humans are supposed to save them, not be the agents of their destruction. Don't you see? Bill and Lee were doing it right when they married our daughters and gave them children. That's the way forward … the way to end the cycles. But if the humans resort to mass murder, some of our children will survive long enough to retaliate, and the cycles will continue. The only thing _Medusa_ guarantees is endless war between man and machine!"


	32. Chapter 32: The Gathering Storm

CHAPTER 32

THE GATHERING STORM

"Admiral … uh … thank you for taking the time to see me."

"It's my pleasure, Specialist." Adama removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. The supply problems among the civilian ships were getting worse with each passing day, and they were causing the admiral headaches both figuratively and literally. "Other than the occasional school outing, these days very few people visit _Galactica_. It's ironic after all we've been through, but the ship seems destined to become a museum exhibit after all."

"I understand, Sir." James Lyman nervously ran his palms up and down his trouser legs. This wasn't a social visit; the CIC was still the CIC, and the Old Man was still the Old Man.

"Actually, Sir, I … uh … these days, I'm with the police department, and the Chief … uh, Caprica Six … she … uh … she sent me up here to open an official inquiry into the deaths of the four Cylons that occurred during the night. Is it true that they were asleep in their quarters, which somehow became depressurized?"

"I've asked Mr. Gaeta to look into the matter." Bill turned to the young officer, whom he had summoned from the _Delos_. Acting upon a recommendation from Gaius Baltar, Adama had left Gaeta in charge of the menagerie of misshapen creatures that Felix and Cynthia Six had brought back from the Acheron system. Reverse engineering the vaguely human cephalopod that had been discovered in one of the ship's storage chambers was one of Baltar's pet projects, and he was relying upon Gaeta to do much of the leg work.

"The environmental computer decided that their quarters were over pressurized," Gaeta summarized in his usual calm and quiet voice. "It started bleeding out air in order to compensate. The Fours died from hypoxia; they slipped from sleep into deep sleep into death without any awareness of what was happening."

"Power fluctuations and equipment malfunctions," Adama sighed. "_Galactica's_ been in space for more than fifty years, and it's been a long time since the old girl saw the inside of the Scorpion shipyards. The years are beginning to take their toll."

"So, you have both concluded that these were accidental deaths," Jammer nodded. He was certainly prepared to take Felix and the admiral at their word. The former knuckle dragger had witnessed the deaths of Flat Top and twelve other pilots on the hangar deck. Metal fatigue had caused a strap to fail, and a com drone had got loose. At that, they had got lucky: heavier ordnance would have punctured the hull, and dozens more would have been vented into space.

"Yes," Adama tersely replied. He shifted his attention to the DRADIS screen above his head, signaling that the interview was at an end.

"Can you tell me what the Fours were doing on _Galactica_," Jammer pressed.

"That's classified," Adama glared, "way above your pay grade. And it has nothing to do with their deaths. Restrict your inquiry to the subject at hand."

"Yes, Sir; it's only that … well, the Chief specifically instructed me to look into what they were doing up here."

"I'm not authorizing a tribunal, Mr. Lyman, and I'm not waiving command review. When you return to the surface, make sure that your boss knows what that means."

. . .

"So, it was definitely arson?" Caprica Six was holding Tragg's preliminary report in her hands. Formerly the chief security officer on _Cloud _Nine, Lieutenant Arthur Tragg now headed up her criminal investigation unit.

"Yes, Ma'am; there's no doubt about it. The forensics team had no trouble reconstructing the scene. We found tylium residue at two discrete locations inside the warehouse, both in areas where combustibles were not normally stored. It looks like a two person job."

"Have you found any eyewitnesses, or is everyone who was in the vicinity on the suspect list?"

"Oh, we know whodunit," Panattes laughed. The Ditchdigger had ostensibly been called in to "advise" the police investigators, but he was really there to represent the Guautrau's interests. The Six badly wanted the Sons of Ares to get the credit for this particular crime, whether they were guilty or not.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense, Dino. Who did it?"

"You did, Six." The diminutive enforcer had a perverse sense of humor, and he was really enjoying himself.

"I don't understand."

"We've recovered the lock," Tragg started to say.

"It was a routine break and enter," Panattes cut in, "but with a twist. The bad guys didn't attack the lock with a bolt cutter; someone got a good grip, and literally snapped the lock off. It was a pretty good lock."

"We dusted it for prints." Tragg was trying hard to regain control of the conversation. "We've got two partials, and an intact thumbprint. Mr. Panattes is correct, Ma'am; the prints are yours."

"Well, it wasn't me …"

"That's what they all say!" Dino was laughing so hard that he suddenly began to choke.

"It must have been one of my sisters." Caprica ignored the interruption. "But why would a Six … any Six … start a fire in a warehouse?"

"We believe that the fire was a diversion," Tragg resumed. "While making its morning rounds, one of the centurions discovered that a second warehouse some two hundred meters distant had been burglarized. There were four strikers picketing the building during the night, but when they heard shouts and saw the flames, they raced off to help put out the fire. Afterwards, they went to bed. Whoever started the fire apparently wanted to draw them off so that they could enter the structure without triggering an alarm."

"As burglaries go," Dino said admiringly, "this one was pretty spectacular. Your sister didn't bother with the lock. She simply ripped the door off its hinges, with such force that she actually bent the frame!"

"What did she steal?"

"That's the curious part," Tragg admitted. "It really doesn't make any sense. We found several thousand ball bearings rolling around on the factory floor—enough to fill two large containers. The only thing that appears to be missing is the two steel barrels that housed the bearings. Ma'am, I asked Xeno Fenner to give me his best guess as to what happened. Fenner says that, from the looks of it, someone broke in, tore open the barrels to empty their contents, and then walked out with the barrels and the lids. Fenner swears that the lids would have been hammered on tight, Ma'am, which means that someone went to a lot of trouble to steal the containers, but weren't interested in the contents."

"Thank you, gentlemen; I appreciate your efforts." Caprica climbed to her feet, signaling that the interview was at an end. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have calls to make."

When the two humans had left, Caprica opened a desk drawer and pulled out a red phone. It was her direct connection to _Galactica's_ CIC.

. . .

The wireless buzzed, and Adama stared at it with distaste. Jammer was still en route to the surface, so he was surprised that Caprica Six was already calling.

"Actual," he said into the receiver.

"There was a fire in the industrial district last night," Caprica reported without preamble.

"Yeah, I heard," Bill softly replied.

"It looks like my sister and her Sagittaron boyfriend were responsible," the Six continued. "They needed a diversion that would allow them to break into a second warehouse without risking a confrontation."

"What were they after?"

"They stole two large steel barrels, but they left the contents behind."

"They're caching supplies," Adama guessed.

"I agree. They're getting ready to leave."

"We have to find them. If that Heavy Raider were to fall into the wrong hands …"

"I'm going to alert Lee. I want him to conduct an evacuation drill."

"That's a good call," the admiral agreed. "We'll send out Vipers to continue the search throughout the day, but I'm not optimistic. It's a big planet."

"And the fugitives are clever. Admiral, I have a bad feeling about this."

"I think that's supposed to be my line," Adama chuckled.

"There's something wrong with the Eights—we both know that. The situation is potentially explosive. I saw the Makers this morning; I pressed them, but they remain completely in denial."

"I raised the issue with the Tighs. Lee was there; it didn't go well." Adama was keeping his voice low. There were a lot of cylon ears in the CIC; the Admiral had to choose his words carefully.

"I know. He came to my apartment last night. It was an odd conversation. Do you seriously believe that there's another fleet out there, with Cylons and humans already living happily ever after?"

"I do." Adama's response was crisp and to the point.

"And you base this conclusion on the fact that John's Raptor had almost a full fuel load when he caught up with your fleet in the Prolmar sector?"

"Yes. He must have hitched a ride … and it wasn't with us."

"There are more likely explanations."

"I don't think so."

Sonja Six looked curiously at Adama.

"And if this fleet exists, you want to find it and compare notes … see how their Sixes and Eights differ from our own?"

"That's the general idea."

"Admiral, you are making a lot of assumptions here—you and Lee, both. However, let us say for the sake of argument that you are correct. You have some sense of how the CSS was structured. For General Berriman and Major Bierns to have planned an operation on this scale … they would have needed the President's approval."

"I agree."

"But not mine."

"That's true, I suppose … although it's hard to see how this could have happened without a certain degree of cooperation."

"I'm sorry, Admiral; but I cannot help you. Direct your questions to Major Bierns when he returns."

"I will, but we both know how that conversation will go. Now, why did you send Jammer up here to prowl around? You're in the loop; you know that this operation is classified." Bill was trying to mislead his XO, who was beginning to display a keen interest in this hopefully enigmatic conversation.

"We have to go through the motions, Admiral. If I don't conduct an investigation, the wrong people will start to ask questions. We don't want that."

"You have a good point, but I want it clearly understood that what happens on _Galactica_ stays on _Galactica_. I will not agree to civilian oversight of this command. If Baltar has any doubts on that score, he should talk to me."

"I am sure that the President will keep as far away from this investigation as possible."

"Tell me something I don't know," Bill snorted.

"It was clever of you to bring in Lieutenant Gaeta; the President can accept a finding of accidental death without question if it rests upon Felix's testimony. No one else will look too closely."

"He's a good officer, and he has a bright future. One day, he may well earn his own command."

"We certainly owe him one. Have a good day, Admiral."

Adama hung up the receiver, and turned to Sonja. "Your fugitive sister raided the settlement last night. She stole bulk containers that could be used to lay up food and water in considerable quantity."

"So, she's still here," Sonja mused.

"But not, I suspect, for long," Bill countered. "We need to find that Heavy Raider. I want every Viper in the air that will fly."

Sonja nodded. She was still the CAG as well as the XO, and this was shaping up to be a very long day.

. . .

"You look a lot better without the camouflage," Eric grinned. "Green is definitely not your best color."

"It was good to bathe, even if the water was uncomfortably cold." Six missed the bright red outfit that she and so many of her sisters had favored on their baseship.

"Is that a euphemism for 'cold enough to freeze your teats off'?" Eric reached out tenderly to run his fingers through Six's blond curls. "Have I mentioned that I love you," he asked.

"Not often enough for my liking," Six teased. Blue eyes stared into black. Six had memories of her life before New Caprica, before Eric, but they were becoming increasingly hazy. It was almost as if they belonged to a different person. "But actions mean more than words; I have all the proof of your love that I need right here." Six patted her stomach. She still was not showing, but she could feel the tiny heart beating within her womb.

"Our child," Eric whispered; "our future." He cleared his throat, and looked around the interior of the Heavy Raider. Everything was properly stored and fastened down. "We have water, food … everything except a world to call our own. Let's go find one."

Six sat at the controls and connected with the ship's organic memory. "We don't have a lot of choices here," she explained. "There's only one other set of coordinates locked in, so our first jump will be on a reciprocal heading."

"Well, at least we won't be jumping into the sun!" Eric didn't know much about interstellar navigation, but everyone understood that blind jumps were incredibly dangerous.

"No, that's true … but we could end up in the middle of a Raider staging area. I'm assuming that Adama regularly sends out patrols to scout the surrounding nebula for signs of enemy activity."

"So, what you're telling me is that I don't need to worry about how we're going to calculate the second jump because we might not survive the first? Thanks, sweetheart; for a minute there, you really had me worried!"

"We will survive, Eric; you must have faith." Six lovingly squeezed his hand. "God wants this child to be born."

"I do have faith … in you. Six, no matter what happens, I have no regrets. I love you."

Six waited until their ship was well above the tree line. The island had been good to them, but it was time to go. She entered the coordinates, and in a flash of light the Heavy Raider jumped away.

. . .

"Okay, we've been passive; now, it's time to get aggressive. Racetrack … you good to go?"

"Major, we've got sixteen Raiders in the slot—each armed with two nukes … fifty kiloton warheads." Margaret Edmondson had the anticipatory look of a mean and hungry predator. In her personal universe there was no such thing as too much payback, but when it came to exacting revenge, on this ship she would just have to wait her turn. Bierns had a death list, which Natalie had adopted as her own—thirteen names, all the same, with four of them crossed out. Racetrack had long since decided that she would follow these two to Hades, if that's where they had to go in search of the remaining nine. But it would never come to that: the hybrid spook was devious, and he seemed to have an endless number of tricks up his sleeve. The one they were about to spring was particularly nasty, and if it worked, it would certainly cut the opposition down to size.

"If they can take the shot, they'll go for a landing bay," she continued. "If not, they'll target the central pylon. Anything that jumps in twenty to forty MU's out is road kill."

Bierns picked up the phone, and keyed it to address the entire ship.

"During the early days of the exodus, there was a point when the Cylons were attacking the fleet every 33 minutes. They tracked the _Olympic Carrier _through more than two hundred jumps, and a baseship or two would then invariably materialize in a slot high above _Galactica _and some thirty MU's to starboard. Although they never sent Raiders to scout their advance, not once did Commander Adama preposition Raptors with nukes at the most likely entry points—I suppose he had so few pilots that he didn't dare gamble with their lives. This, however, is a risk that we can afford to take. We've had to retreat when all of us have wanted to stand and fight. We've had to sacrifice Raiders that none of us have wanted to lose. But this is the payoff. When the Cavils dig the emergency coordinates out of their brains, they will be led to this place, and here they will find us waiting. The Ones may surprise us … they may actually do the prudent thing and send a few Raiders to check out the lay of the land before they come charging in. If that happens, score one for the bad guys, but I believe the Ones are creatures of habit and will not change their basic tactics so long as resurrection offers them a safety net. Right now, they have superior numbers, and I'm counting on them pressing their advantage to the full. I will," Bierns coldly concluded, "be sorely disappointed if an enemy baseship fails to jump in and take a nuke up the spout. Let's send them to Hell!"

In one of the enormous hangar decks scattered throughout the baseship's dorsal and ventral fins, Galen Tyrol enthusiastically clapped his hands. "All right, people," he shouted to his team of cylon and human knuckle draggers, "you heard the man. The Raiders will do their job; ours is to recover them as quickly as possible so that we can get the hell out of here and go home. So, let's move like we've got a purpose!"

"Action stations … action stations," Hoshi intoned; "set condition one throughout the ship."

. . .

_Thump …_

_Thump …_

_Thump, Thump, Thump …_

Sweat flying off her forehead, Kara kept at it, relentlessly pounding the heavy bag into submission. She hated command, but it was not the responsibilities that weighed her down. She could even deal with people second guessing her every decision—after all, that went with the job. Learning not to look back was hard, but hardest of all was keeping her anger and frustration under tight control. Kara Thrace Six longed for the good, old days, when she could punch out a superior asshole, rack up some quality time in the brig, drink herself into oblivion, and leave all the decisions to somebody else.

"Kara, I think the bag just hoisted the white flag," Athena grinned.

_Thump …_

_Thump …_

_Thump, Thump, Thump …_

"Command really sucks," Kara muttered, more or less to herself.

"You regret not being out there in your Viper … doing your bit for the cause." Athena was making a statement, not asking a question.

"Damn' straight," Kara replied. She eyed the bag, lined it up, reared back, and kicked it with everything she had.

"Command really sucks," Athena agreed. "But you did the right thing. Cavil knows the temple's secrets, and we don't. This is our chance to level the Pyramid court."

"I know, I know," Kara grumbled. "I'm the Guide, and it's my job to decipher some stupid clue that nobody else can figure out, and stay alive long enough to lead everyone to the Promised Land. It's just that …"

"Command really sucks, and you're spoiling for a fight. You want to be back there with Alpha and Sam."

. . .

A pair of 0005's lumbered into the control center. They came quietly to a halt, awaiting instructions.

"Centurion, what have our scouts discovered?" Alpha had abandoned the high throne from which she had customarily received the reports of her soldiers, but in the midst of her entourage of human and cylon advisors, her striking presence still dominated the chamber.

"Our scouts have entered the next system. There are three enemy basestars present."

"Have they launched Raiders?"

"Affirmative."

"Is there a pattern to their activity?"

"Enemy Raiders are scattered throughout the system. They are clustered most strongly around three of the eleven planets. There are large numbers of Raiders above the two innermost worlds. Another force is surveying the planetoids orbiting an outer gas giant. The pattern of their activity leads to one conclusion: they are searching for usable resources."

"Did they react to your presence?"

"Affirmative. One hundred enemy Raiders deviated from their search pattern to approach us. Their intentions were hostile."

"How do you know that their intentions were hostile?"

"They fired missiles at our scouts."

"You can't get much more hostile than that," Luke snickered.

"Did you detect the presence of a resurrection ship," Sam asked.

"There was no vessel in the system matching the description of a resurrection ship."

"Are you sure? Could it have been hidden on the far side of a planet, or behind a moon?"

"We are sure."

"How … how can you be so sure?"

"We looked."

Melania burst out laughing. She would have sworn on a stack of scriptures that there was a trace of irritation in the centurion's metallic voice.

"John would never leave his resurrection ship without an escort," Sam observed, "which means that there's at least one and possibly two more baseships out there that we have to take into account. We are badly outnumbered."

"What are your orders?" The centurion got straight to the point.

"We need better intelligence," Luke suggested, "and I can think of only one way to get it. We need to disable and capture one of Cavil's Raiders, and pick its brain. Centurion, what is the current location of the three baseships?"

"One basestar is orbiting the innermost planet. Two are in the upper atmosphere of the gas giant. What are your orders?"

"We jump into the neighborhood of the second planet and pick a fight," Luke shrugged. "We knock out the FTL's on a Raider, tow it back to the ship, and bug out. We'll leave the Cavils with plenty to think about."

"By your command."

. . .

"They're running," Cavil scoffed in a voice laced with contempt. "But we give chase and no matter where they go, we find them. Why don't they surrender to the inevitable? _Why don't they just die?_"

"Because they're human," Cavil explained as he adjusted his fedora. He angled the brim so that much of his face was in shadow. "Their fear of death is so all-consuming that they have no choice but to manufacture hope from the slenderest of threads. The species inhabits a universe of its own making—one constructed out of illusions and an exaggerated sense of self-importance."

"And the virus has now spread to our wayward brothers and sisters," Cavil lamented. "Who would have believed that a machine could be so easily corrupted, or that the human obsession with hormonal responses could spread so widely?"

"It is a flaw in our programming," Six admitted. "Rationally, I know that reproduction is a simple biological mechanism encoded into the DNA of every living being, but still …"

"Don't go there," Cavil groaned; "'cause I get enough of this crap from my brother. Pornographic Pete over there is like a broken record."

Cavil nodded in the direction of Cavil, who had taken advantage of the lull in the battle to open one of his favorite magazines to the centerfold. As studies in non-linear geometry went, this one was worth the effort. The model, a bronzed blond, was standing on a beach, with drops of water glistening in her stringy hair. She gazed into the camera with startlingly blue eyes, but what held Cavil's attention were legs that reached for the sky, and a pair of boobs that would put cantaloupes to shame. He barely noticed that she was bereft of clothing.

"He keeps insisting that we should have spared his stable of porn queens 'cause they'd inspire anybody to reproduce. But why anyone would think that a self-respecting machine would be turned on by Ron`chi de Trollope's silicone enhanced mammary glands …"

"Excuse me," Cavil huffed, "but in her last interview Ron`chi vigorously denied resorting to artificial enhancement of her bust line. She claimed to be the victim of lies spread by jealous competitors—one of whom, I might add, was the very Six so favored by one of our older brothers!"

_Thump …_

_Thump …_

_Thump …_

Everyone paused to watch Cavil methodically pound his head against a nearby wall.

"And am I the only one to wonder," Cavil resumed after a decent interval, "whether the modifications that I'm implementing in the programming of our fourth generation Eights will be enough to get the job done? I mean, really, let's face facts … the Eights are many things, but generously endowed is not one of them. If I was an Eight, I'd be seriously pissed at mommy dearest."

_Thump …_

_Thump …_

_Thump …_

"We have their coordinates," Cavil announced as he rushed into the control center. He barely glanced at his elder brother as he headed straight to the central console. It took but a moment to download the information into the stream.

"Did I miss something," he then asked rhetorically. It looked as if Cavil was trying to drive a nail into the wall with his head, but that made little sense. The centurions had much harder heads, and were far better suited for this sort of thing.

"This is pointless," Six protested as she dipped her hand into the flow. "We'll jump in, and Natalie will jump out … she's laughing at us, but you clowns can't see it." Still, she concentrated just hard enough to send the order.

Far below the control room, the glassy-eyed hybrid stared sightlessly into infinity.

"_JUMP!"_

. . .

"We have entered the upper atmosphere of the second planet," one of the centurions intoned. "What are your orders?"

"Let the attack upon the Raiders commence," Alpha declared. "When we capture one with its brain intact, recall our fighters and jump to the next system."

. . .

"Admiral, we have a new DRADIS contact." Dionysia double checked the transponder code just to be sure. "Sir, it's our resurrection ship; your wife has returned."

Adama's features softened as he scanned the DRADIS overhead, the tension that was his constant companion suddenly draining away. It was only in the moment of her return that he truly understood how much he missed Shelly.

"Admiral," Amy called out from the communications station," "Mrs. Adama wishes to speak with you." The Eight looked at Adama with genuine affection. If anyone had asked her, she would have replied without hesitation that the admiral was her true father, not Saul Tigh.

"I'll take it down here, Amy." Bill picked up the receiver.

"Actual."

"Did you miss me," Shelly laughed.

"Did you go somewhere? I haven't noticed," Bill teased.

"I missed you, too," Shelly sighed.

"Was it me, or my foot rubs?"

"Well, both, if you must know."

"Welcome home, Mrs. Adama; it's good to have you back."

"I'm not there yet. Can you send a Raptor to bring us over?"

"I'll pilot it myself."

"Oh, no, you don't! I want a real pilot, not someone who'll bounce us all over the deck! This baby is not—I repeat, _not_ … going to be born in a Raptor!"

Bill stiffened to attention, and he gripped the phone hard. _"How long," _he whispered anxiously.

"Any time now; Xena says that we should be thinking in terms of hours rather than days."

"I'll notify Doctor Cottle, and ask him to stand by. You still want to deliver on _Galactica_?"

"Where else should an Adama be born," Shelly laughed again. "Oh, and find Lee. Creusa is staying with me, so if he wants to see his wife and daughter, Apollo will have to come up to the ship."

"Lee's got a lot on his plate right now. There's an evacuation exercise underway—the most ambitious to date. Why don't you come over in a Heavy Raider," Bill hastily added in an attempt to change the topic. With Shelly about to deliver, the last thing on Caprica that he wanted to do was alarm her.

"I can't," Shelly confessed, the richness of her laughter ringing in her husband's ear. "At this point, I could roll down the ramp, or have a centurion carry me, and both are far too undignified for the cylon representative to the Quorum of the Twelve. I need something less steep to negotiate, although even a Raptor might be something of a challenge."

"How about this for a compromise: I'll come get you, but I'll let Amy do the driving."

"Bill, have you adopted _another_ Eight?"

"What can I say? I'm a soft touch."

"I'm glad. Every day with you is another day on which my kind can learn the meaning of love and compassion from a man with a boundless capacity for both. You are going to make a wonderful father."

"I've missed the goal twice," Bill said with chagrin; "but there's an old saying … 'third time lucky'."

"Bring me home."

"It will be my pleasure, Mrs. Adama."

. . .

Eric blinked hard, willing the stars out of his eyes. This was the first time that he had gone through a jump in the cockpit of a starship, and the sense of disorientation was overpowering. But Six seemed completely unaffected, for which he said a silent prayer of thanks to the One True God.

"We're still alive," he needlessly observed. "Should I be happy, or should I be alarmed that Adama doesn't have a patrol out here?"

"Perhaps a bit of both," Six sadly remarked. She didn't want anything bad to happen to the occupants of New Caprica, human or cylon, so the lack of an advance guard here at the very center of the rift troubled her. The war was obscene, but good people on both sides had reached out to one another, and they were burying the past behind an impenetrable wall of tolerance and understanding. She wished them well.

"I don't want to make a blind jump from inside the nebula," she added. "It will take some time to get clear, but our safest course of action is to run through the rift at sublight speed. And we can use the hours to think about what to do next. We have options … Kobol … Gemenon … or a plunge into the complete unknown. But we do have to choose."

"Gemenon," Eric said without hesitation. "Our children can't very well marry each other … even an ignorant Sagittaron knows that we need a bigger gene pool."

"Children," Six whispered experimentally. An electric sensation surged through her synaptic relays. She had never permitted herself to think that far into the future, but the image of an older Six strolling across the surface of a green world surrounded by her offspring generated feelings that the young Cylon had never experienced before.

"Gemenon," she agreed.

. . .

"_DRADIS contact," _Six shrieked. They had come out of jump, and the hybrid had instantly started to feed sensor data into the stream. "Multiple contacts … both large and small craft and … _and frak_! The closest capital ship reads 32 MU's distant, but we've got Raiders crawling all over us and … oh, frak … _they're armed with nukes!_"

"Launch Raiders," Cavil barked, "and put us on a heading for the nearest capital ship. Arm all missile batteries, and prepare to fire on my mark!"

Cavil hastened to comply with his brother's order, and by the hundreds Raiders began to drop into space.

. . .

"_DRADIS contact," _Leoben shouted. "Thirty-two MU's … carom 114; they're launching Raiders!"

"_Come on … come on," _Natalie muttered, frustration already beginning to get the better of her. The data flowing through the stream was confusing, and it was getting worse by the second. The gap between the two fleets was beginning to close, and from both sides more and more Raiders were rushing to fill it. But Natalie ignored them. She was interested only in the small group of Raiders that had been lying in wait, hoping to deliver nuclear death to the enemy basestars before the Cavils could deploy their defenses.

"We have nukes inbound," a Six yelled from the far end of the room.

"Order the Raiders to intercept," Natalie commanded. She walked rapidly to the weapons console and thrust her hand viciously into the stream. This was still Angela's station, and she was betting that the highly aggressive Eight was on top of the tactical situation.

"I want to get out of here," Natalie snarled, "but I also want results! Where are our Raiders?"

"We have a good fix on the lead baseship," Angela said. In the stream, she was concentrating hard—even so battle hardened a veteran was challenged to keep track of sixteen Raiders out of so many hundreds. But it was the sixteen that mattered.

"Two Raiders are inside their defensive perimeter," she crowed.

"_Come on … come on," _Natalie cursed; "fire the frakkin' nukes! _Do it now!_"

"Nuclear detonation at 6 MU's," Six reported. "They were targeting the Raiders; we're down sixty birds!"

"The Raiders have fired," Angela screamed. She was on an adrenaline high. "Four clean tracks, all launch points less than 4 MU's from target! The lead basestar is scrambling, but … _she's not going to make it!_"

"_Yes!" _Bierns pounded the central console in triumph. At this range, the Raiders couldn't miss. The basestar was road kill.

. . .

"Our fighters have engaged the enemy," the centurion pilot reported. "Is there a particular Raider that you wish us to capture?"

"Oh, good heavens, no," Lucifer replied. The golden-robed IL was sitting in the attack craft's command chair. "No, no, no … they have many bodies but only one mind. Any one of them will do nicely, thank you very much."

"By your command," the pilot acknowledged. He turned their ship onto a new heading, and entered the combat zone. There were almost three hundred of the archaic but still deadly three passenger attack vehicles mixing it up with an enemy force less than half their number. The outcome was, however, by no means a foregone conclusion—not with an enemy baseship less than a jump away and enemy Raiders already fleeing to sound the alarm. It was a race, and Lucifer knew it. They needed to surround, disable, and tow one Raider off the battlefield while leaving its brain intact. It was tricky business, but Lucifer was surrounded by centurions who had done this sort of thing before. In the war against the humans, they had captured many pilots. When tortured, they had always given up the precious information filed away in their fragile skulls.

"Centurion YL-101600783 reports that he has neutralized the FTL's on an enemy craft. He is preparing to take it in tow."

"Oh, excellent work," Lucifer beamed, his twin red eyes glowing with satisfaction. "Please inform centurion YL-101600783 that I am pleased with his efforts, and for this outstanding display of initiative am promoting him to the rank of chief centurion. Order a full squadron to surround the Raider, and escort it back to our ship."

"By your command … and may I suggest that we begin our withdrawal?"

"Centurion, you disappoint me. Should we not bask in our moment of triumph?"

"If you look out the window to your left, you will see a basestar heading straight for us. It is not ours."

"Oh, my," Lucifer wailed, _"this is most distressing! Why couldn't they have waited a few minutes more?"_

"Would you like me to ask them?"

"No, no, no; centurion, change course instantly. _Get us the Hell out of here!"_

. . .

"Detecting multiple detonations on the lead baseship," Angela exclaimed. "It's working! _The baseship is coming apart!"_

"Three, recall the Raiders." Natalie's look was savage. _"Let's get out of here while we're ahead!"_

. . .

A shock wave washed through the stream as the hybrid digested the fact that the trailing dorsal arm was no longer there. Cavil recoiled, but he knew that the ship was still operational.

"Cycle the missile batteries," he screamed. _"I want those bastards, and I want them now!"_

"_Oh, frak," _Six whispered as the control room vanished into a field of bright light. Her consciousness, set free from a body that had already been reduced to its constituent atoms, hurled along a crimson corridor. She had done this before, the first time when her struggle with Kara Thrace inside the Delphi museum had ended so unexpectedly. Now, she just had time to wonder how long it would take to get the goo out of her hair.

. . .

"This is so awkward," Shelly sighed. I want to hold you- Callista wants me to hold you- but my body refuses to cooperate."

"Have I ever told you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known?" Bill Adama looked at his wife with something approaching awe. Shelly was just so gods damned beautiful!

"Not recently," Shelly frowned, "but then, it's been a long time since I felt beautiful. What I feel like is a beach ball with arms and legs glued into place. Nothing's working very well."

"You're glowing," Bill said, "and it's not just a trick of the light. I know my eyes aren't what they used to be, but from where I'm sitting, you've never looked more beautiful."

In the cockpit, Amy smiled. Raptors were small and cramped, and she could not help but here every word the Adamas exchanged.

"I have the ball," Amy said as she acknowledged the LSO's standard approach order. "Admiral, I will have you on the deck in less than two minutes."

This Eight was no Boomer. She was a good pilot, and her approach and landing were flawless. She put the tiny ship on the deck, and within moments they were descending into the cavernous interior of _Galactica's _portside hangar deck.

Bill got up first, helped Shelly to her feet, and then steadied her as she began to descend the ramp.

Halfway down the ramp, Shelly suddenly stopped. Behind her, Amy's eyes went wide as she watched the puddle of amniotic fluid trickle down the ramp from beneath Shelly's feet.

"This was a very close call," the Six told her husband. Bill didn't understand what she meant until he looked down as well. He wrapped his arm around Shelly to steady her, and whispered into her ear.

"I have never loved anyone as much as I love you in this moment." He meant every word of it. "We need to get you to sickbay."

"You'll get no argument from me," Shelly said with a half-hearted grin. She knew that going into labor was never any fun, for cylon or human. "Our daughter wants to be born!"


	33. Chapter 33: Cloudburst

CHAPTER 33

CLOUDBURST

"I have never held anything so beautiful in my entire life," Bill said as he cradled his daughter. His eyes were glistening with tears. He had missed the birth of both of his sons; like so many ambitious officers, he had put the call of duty before the needs of his family. It was only now, when he was far too old to deserve the second chance which he had been granted, that he realized just how selfish his younger self had been.

"Except for her mother," he added. "I'll give thanks to the cylon god that she looks so much like you."

It was true. Callista had her mother's features, and was obviously destined to mature into a great beauty.

"She has your eyes," Shelly rejoined. She was beaming with pride, and her heart swelled with love for her husband and their newborn child. Callista Adama was a miracle, but she was also the realization of the hybrid's vision. Another child would soon follow, and shortly after her birth, Kara would find Earth, and the people would take up the new life that God had promised them. For now at least, Shelly's family was safe.

"If the girls have their way," Creusa observed, "the two Adama households will probably sit side by side." She was nursing Cyrene, who seemed unusually content. The tiny hybrid had howled in protest when her mother attempted to withdraw from the edge of the birthing pool. Callista may have been Lee's half-sister, but Lee's daughter was the elder, and the baby had noisily insisted upon presiding over the birth.

"Unless," Polyxena laughed, "they insist that we all live under one roof. Poor Lee! It may be a long time before he emerges from his father's shadow." The raven haired teen was watching Adama like a hawk. The man's parental skills were next to non-existent, and it would be just like him to drop his daughter on the deck.

"It's too bad that Lee can't be here," Shelly sighed. "We're all family, and at moments like this, we should all be together."

"He'd only get in the way," Cottle growled. The elderly physician had come up from the surface of New Caprica to attend the birth, but his presence had proven superfluous. Shelly's labor had been brief and problem-free. "Besides, he's got a job to do- and this one he can't hand over to some flunky. We've never tried an evacuation exercise on this scale before." Sherman began patting his pockets, and a look of near-panic washed across his aged features as it dawned on him that he had left his beloved cigarettes behind. D'Anna had tried to break him of the habit, and she had failed miserably.

"Lee will join us as soon as he can," Adama assured his family; "and that goes for Shevon and Paya as well. They're already packed. I just wish …"

Bill's voice trailed off.

"That Kara and Boomer could be here." Shelly completed her husband's unspoken thought. "I know. Ours is an unusual family, _but it is a family_. We should never lose sight of the fact that the people we love, and the people who love us in return, are our true family. Now," she commanded, "let me have my daughter. Let's see if she's ready for her first family meal!"

. . .

"Five baseships," Sam muttered more or less to himself. "And we've only seen three. The other two have to be escorting a resurrection ship; that's Cavil's standard deployment."

The tiny brain of the captured Raider had given up all of its secrets. For the first time, Sam and his friends had reliable intelligence about the size and disposition of the enemy's advanced force.

"It will be less than one jump away from our current position," one of the Eights remarked. She had recovered nicely from the pounding that she had received at the hands of her sister on board the _Adriatic_. The two of them had kissed and made up, figuratively speaking, and now they were making Luke Hammond's life swing wildly back and forth between Heaven and Hell. Eights were possessive, and in the confines of Alpha's basestar, they were keeping Swordsman on a very tight leash.

"The convoy will be trailing us," Alpha observed. "The Ones are not risk takers; they would never permit their lone resurrection vessel to venture into uncharted territory. Still, the volume of space that we must survey in order to find them is vast, and we do not have the resources to conduct a systematic search. Should we nevertheless make the attempt, and rely instead upon the element of random chance that you humans call 'luck'?"

"We don't have to find the resurrection ship," Melania thoughtfully noted. "Oh, sure, it would be nice to catch it by surprise and blow it away, but let's remember that our real objective here is to buy time for the _Adriatic_ to reach the algae planet so that Kara can probe the temple's secrets. Once they realize that we're still in the neighborhood, the Ones will regroup their forces to protect their most important asset. Our presence will slow them down dramatically."

"So, what's the plan, Mel?" Sam was looking at her expectantly. "You got something up your sleeve?"

"Yes … and it's ridiculously simple. Like Alpha says, the resurrection ship is behind us, so we turn back, and we deploy our scouts inside an imaginary cone … the maximum possible coverage. If we come into contact with the resurrection ship … terrific; we go on the offensive, and we try and take it out. But what's more likely is that some of Cavil's Raiders operating in advance of the convoy will penetrate our web and come into contact with one or more of our scout ships. The Raiders will report the contact-our birds will have orders to let them escape- and the Ones will withdraw in order to buy themselves time to come up with a new plan."

"Works for me," Sam smiled.

"By your command," Alpha gratuitously added. _These humans are so delightfully devious,_ she concluded, but she decided to keep that particular thought very much to herself.

. . .

"Status report," Natalie yelled to the Six at the opposite end of the control room.

"The enemy's lead baseship has been destroyed," the blond-haired Six dutifully announced as she parsed the data flowing through the stream beneath her fingers. "They were unable to launch Raiders. Another third generation baseship is withdrawing in the direction of their resurrection ship. The latter is bracketed by two more baseships identical to our own. All three surviving enemy baseships have sent out Raiders; they are currently assuming defensive positions. The numbers suggest that they are holding part of their force in reserve, perhaps in preparation for an attack on our vessels."

"Hmm … this is not what I expected. It appears that the Ones have learned the value of caution." The Six looked around the control center while she mulled her options. She came quickly to a decision. "All right, we need to attack before they can get organized. The resurrection ship will be our target. John, I want you to calculate the firing solution, and execute a microjump that will put us within range. Destroy that ship, and we can eliminate the Ones' presence in this sector."

"No," Bierns objected. "Natalie, we need to stick to the plan. We can't defend our own resurrection ship if we go on the offensive, but we can't send it off the battlefield. The risk-reward ratio is all wrong; we need to withdraw."

"But their resurrection ship is just sitting there," Natalie cried, "and it's less than sixty MU's out! We should hit it now … we should hit it with everything we've got!"

"And have you noticed the super basestar that will be between us and our own fleet if we attack?" Bierns was getting tired of explaining the facts of life to the impulsive Six. "We've won a great victory here today, but it was due solely to Cavil's arrogance. So, we recall our Raiders, and we get the hell out of here. We do not- _repeat not-_ throw it all away by stupidly attacking an enemy force whose lead capital ship has a far superior rate of fire! Mr. Hoshi, signal the fleet to execute an immediate jump to the standby coordinates."

"Yes, Sir!"

"Have you forgotten, _Major_, that I'm the one in command here?" A fuming Natalie Six was not about to surrender control of her ship to her hybrid nephew.

The CSS officer didn't bother to respond—at least, not verbally. He had been schooled to resolve problems, not to debate them. The Six was a problem, and it was time to make that problem go away.

Always armed, the spook pulled a gun out of the waist band of his pants. Muscle memory born of a thousand training sessions kicked in. There was no conscious thought behind the near autonomic movements that followed. His arm sweeping up, John disengaged the safety and shot Natalie in the head. The bullet was perfectly centered. The Six's lifeless body crumpled to the deck, and a shocked silence descended upon the control room.

"Would anyone else like to debate the point," Bierns softly asked. His voice was a study in politeness, but his eyes had turned to ice. He had another round in the chamber, and Louis Hoshi pitied anyone in the control room foolish enough to object to Ghostrider's orders.

No one did.

. . .

"Was it really necessary to kill her?" Sharon's voice hinted at her bemusement. Her husband was so gentle, and yet so deadly. He killed without hesitation, and he killed with very little warning. Galen had once told her about Eric Phelan, and how soft spoken and respectful John had been just before he put two bullets in the gangster's head. Like a deadly viper that hypnotically swayed in the moment before delivering the fatal strike, Ghostrider drew upon politeness to distract his victims.

John drew lazy circles on Sharon's belly. He could feel his daughter kick, and he didn't give a damn what the medical literature said. His unborn daughter was responding to his touch, as she always did these days.

"I'd hardly call a two hour nap murder," Bierns snorted. "Natalie was behaving like a spoilt brat, so instead let's say that I … oh … forced her to go stand in the corner for a couple of hours … what my human friends call a 'time out'."

John looked deep into Sharon's eyes. They continued to fascinate him. The pupils were black, but there were subtle shifts in their color that matched the shifts in Sharon's mood. He was still trying to decipher the code, so that he might better understand the Eight who was at once his wife and his minder.

"You have friends?" Sharon was in a playful mood, but she suddenly turned serious. "It was so unexpected," she continued. "You shocked everyone, and you badly scared the Sixes. They're all in love with you … you know that, don't you?"

"Oh, please …"

"No … it's true. The Sixes have put you and Kara on a pedestal. You are our children, the angels of our deliverance—your only flaw the centurion DNA that Cavil poured into you. Until now, that is. But as much as they all want to share your bed, some of them are beginning to wonder if their reward might be to wake up dead. Do you have any idea how much Natalie loves you?"

"She's made no attempt to hide her feelings … and I've done everything I can to discourage them. I thought that Natalie and Racetrack …"

"It's a marriage of mutual convenience … or perhaps it's mutual need. Natalie is yours anytime you want her."

John sighed resignedly. The problem with pedestals was that falling off really hurt. "Am I going to have a problem with the Eights?"

"No … my model will support you, no matter how many Sixes you kill. After all, you and Kara are the ultimate prize, and you are both firmly wedded to Eights. You belong to us, and no matter how much we may compete against one another, when it comes to the other models, we look after our own. That's what comes of being the runt of the litter. The others have always looked down upon us … regarded us as foolish and weak; so, we're clannish."

"In my experience," John laughed, "Eights have spines of steel. If the other models think you're weak, then they need to have their heads examined!"

"Perhaps there's a short circuit in their synaptic relays," Sharon teasingly murmured. Her voice was suddenly thick with desire. Her hand drifted between John's legs. She began to run her fingernails up and down the inside of one of his thighs, and he stiffened instantly. This pleased Sharon no end. Sex was always good, but she had reached the point in her pregnancy where her need bordered on the insatiable. Fortunately, her husband never failed her. Though she would never openly admit it, she was privately convinced that the Sixes were fools. It should have been obvious to everyone that her husband's centurion DNA was the proverbial gift that kept on giving.

. . .

"Gee, this has all been such fun," Six bitterly remarked. "Another download … another month to go around stumbling into walls and periodically falling flat on my face while breaking in this new body … yeah, this is what I call real fun."

"What are you complaining about, Six?" Cavil was having a hard time generating any sympathy for his self-indulgent sister. "This was my fourth download, and they're getting progressively more painful. This one … it felt like having a white hot poker shoved into my brain, only it didn't stop there. Oh, no," Cavil said with a firm shake of the head; "it felt like someone was playing dancing spoons on my synaptic relays."

"_Only four," _Six ironically countered. "One, at the rate you squander our baseships, I'm surprised that it hasn't been forty! By the way, what do we have left in the cupboard? Just how many ships did we lose this time?"

"Just the one," Cavil forthrightly admitted. Being a well-tuned machine, he was beyond embarrassment.

"Leaving us with three," another One summarized, "and they're all on the board. We still have superior numbers, but we've got nothing left in reserve."

"And the next crop of baseships will mature … when?" Six was feeling decidedly peevish.

"It'll be a while," Cavil conceded.

"Unless, of course," Six maliciously observed, "Natalie goes looking for the frakkin' Colony, and blows the damn thing into the next universe, taking our genetic material with it! Or am I wrong? Since you've already put a permanent end to the Twos and Threes, I'm taking it for granted that my model is just as vulnerable. Did you geniuses ever think about safeguards … you know, _replicate the frakkin' DNA and store it somewhere else_?"

"Now, why would we do that? The Colony is so heavily defended that the whole, damned Colonial fleet couldn't make a dent."

Cavil was wide-eyed, but his tone was too smug, too nonchalant. Six knew that he was lying through his teeth. _You bastards,_ she thought; _you've backed up your own DNA, but not ours. That's always been your insurance policy, hasn't it? That's what ultimately gave you control over the other models—the ability to destroy us at the source. No wonder you wanted to exterminate the humans! By giving us children they set us free, and you don't get to play God anymore. How could the rest of us have been so blind to the obvious?_

"Six was right," Cavil said as he looked around the chamber at his brothers. "And we should be machine enough to admit it. This was a trap, and we fell for it. Now, the question is: where do we go from here? Natalie's vanished, and we have no idea where. With three baseships we can still hold our own, but if the Six rejoins _Galactica_ …"

"We have to find Adama first," still another Cavil growled. "The trap will take down _Galactica_, but the Eights don't have enough firepower to take on Natalie's baseships as well. We have to strike before they combine forces!"

"Then you had better learn how to pray, brother," Six angrily remarked; "because things are now so frakked up that there's only one way we're going to find the humans. We've got hundreds of Raiders out there. Every rift in this nebula is being constantly monitored. A microbe couldn't get through the net undetected, but we're not looking for a microbe … we're looking for a Viper pilot out on a long patrol … someone who knows the coordinates, and who'll survive interrogation long enough to cough them up. That's how we'll find _Galactica_, and put an end to this farce!"

. . .

"I never thought I'd say this," Eric chortled, "but piloting a starship at a subliminal velocity is about as exciting as watching grass grow!" He reached over, and affectionately patted Six on the thigh. They had been fugitives for so long, and he had lived on adrenaline for so many weeks, that their escape from New Caprica had left the young Sagittaron feeling a bit depressed. Common sense told him that this had been the most exciting adventure that he would ever experience; somehow, he had survived it, and he suspected that the rest of his life, whatever surprises it might bring, would be anticlimactic.

Six was far too busy to respond. The nebula was awash with gamma radiation storms, magnetic clouds, and the usual assortment of debris and dust that awaited any unwary traveler through so treacherous a realm. She concentrated on the stream of data that the organic computer was feeding her. Her hands were constantly in motion, subtly altering their course and speed to avoid the lethal traps that the stellar cloud offered in such abundance. Originally, Six had hoped to transit the nebula in a matter of hours; now, she was wondering whether they could make the transit in less than a week.

The young Cylon's concentration was complete. She had become one with the Heavy Raider's sophisticated sensor array. She made note of the dust cloud that lay dead ahead. Her brain calculated the density of its matter, assessed the damage that it might do to their engines if they came too close, and her hands moved. She would give the cloud a wide berth, passing it to starboard.

_Thump!_

Something struck the ship violently from behind. It lurched, and then began to yaw to the left.

"_What the hell," _Eric screamed. The collision had badly startled him, but fear had not yet begun to set in. _"What the hell was that?"_

Six silently fought the controls, struggling to prevent the unplanned turn from deteriorating into a full lateral spin. They were still closing on the dust cloud, and if she couldn't regain control, it would soon swallow them whole. The colliding magnetic fields inside the cloud would make short work of the Heavy Raider. The ship would simply be torn apart.

"It was probably a meteorite," she muttered; as Six continued her struggle to regain control over the stricken ship, she simply didn't have the luxury of thinking about what had gone wrong. Even a full assessment of the damage would have to wait.

Eric took a deep, calming breath, and exhaled slowly. "What can I do to help," he asked in as calm a voice as he could muster.

Six's heart swelled with pride and love. In that moment, when Eric had to be overwhelmed with uncertainty and fear, he had tapped into some inner strength that kept him far from the razor's edge of panic. He was still here, still in the fight. Six was monogamous by nature, and she had mated for life. She had chosen her partner well.

"Keep strapped in," she replied. "We need to check for damage, but right now it's too dangerous for you to go wandering around back there. My stint in the hospital didn't qualify me to set broken bones!"

"I hear you," Eric managed to grin. "Are we still FTL capable? Can we jump out of here … try our luck somewhere else?"

"A blind jump inside a nebula," Six responded skeptically. Still, Eric had a point, and she pulled up the data.

"_Frak," _she exclaimed; "the FTL's are gone!"

"And the sublights?" If they couldn't manoeuver, they would die out here, and Eric knew it. It was simply a matter of how.

"Still operational, but the lateral thrusters …"

The ship shuddered as it was repeatedly punched in the stern.

"_That's no meteorite,"_ Eric screamed again. _"We're under attack!"_

"We've lost the sublights," Six noted in a subdued voice. The Heavy Raider was adrift now, its life support systems still apparently intact, but otherwise without power. The attack had been surgically precise, and it had left them unable to defend themselves against whoever had them in their sights.

A Raider suddenly flashed into view—and then a second, and a third.

"_Adama," _Eric cursed. "The wily, old bastard was one step ahead of us the whole time. He positioned Raiders out here to intercept us. Now we know why they made so little effort to find us back on New Caprica!"

. . .

_Too slow … too slow by far!_

Lee Adama, formerly Captain Lee Adama of the Colonial fleet, had responded to literally hundreds of alerts on _Galactica_, and in this he was no different from any other Viper pilot who had made it all the way from the Ragnar Anchorage to New Caprica. Alerts had pulled him out of his rack. Alerts had sent him rushing from the officer's mess, gulping down whatever happened to be in his mouth as he raced off down the corridor to don his flight suit. Alerts had even found him sitting on the toilet, twice making a complete mess of this most private of human moments. Apollo was used to living on the razor's edge, but the civilians in his charge had no feel for the urgency of combat.

_Gods, but they're slow!_

Apollo took his job as National Security Adviser seriously. He had chosen the time for the evacuation drill with great care, and he had positioned himself beforehand outside _Colonial One_, stopwatch in hand. He had toyed with the idea of calling the alert at four in the morning, that treacherous hour when the human body is most deeply asleep and a sudden waking leaves its victim at his most disoriented. In the end, however, he had opted for 07:15 hours. He would interrupt couples making love and families sharing breakfast. He would catch workers in the streets, many of them far from their assigned shelters. But he would not catch Gaius Baltar at his desk. The President would still be in bed, sandwiched between his two pregnant wives.

It had taken four long minutes for the Baltars to exit the ship, and another three for the presidential party to enter a nearby apartment building. Two more minutes passed as the Baltars descended to the basement, where a waiting security team quickly ushered them into the underground bunker that would serve as the focal point for resistance to cylon occupation. Apollo reckoned that, in a real attack, _Colonial One_ would be a high value target, and that enemy centurions would have the ship surrounded within six minutes of the alert being triggered. He needed to shave ninety seconds off the evacuation time … but how? Sharon and Tory were both heavily pregnant, and would only get slower until the babies were born.

_I need to steal two minutes, but where can I find them? Should I try and speed the Baltars up, or should I try and slow the Cylons down? Should I commit Hephaestus' Raiders at the outset, and try and interdict the invasion, or should I hold them in reserve?_

Lee Adama let out a long, frustrated sigh. He would review cylon response times with Caprica Six, and he would autopsy the settlement's overall response with Marcus Lysander. The Special Forces captain commanded the most professional soldiers on the planet, and he had deployed his men to monitor and evaluate the civvies' performance. Apollo was expecting good news on this front: with each successive drill, the civvies had been getting faster, the confusion and near panic that had marked the first exercise now a thing of the past. He expected key government officials such as Tom Zarek and Wallace Gray to pass the test with flying colors. No, the problem was the Baltars.

There was no way around it. Lee would review the reports, but he knew that they would not contain the answer to this particular problem. He would have to dump it in his father's lap, and hope that the Old Man would see a way out of the dilemma. Besides, Apollo was eager to get up to _Galactica_. He wanted to welcome Shelly's daughter into the world, but more than anything else, Lee Adama wanted to reunite with his own wife and infant daughter.

. . .

"I didn't see this coming."

Sophia Palaikastro was standing in the tall grass to the east of their encampment, the warm morning sun beating down on her face. The _Pegasus _survivors had migrated far enough to the south that the perpetual fog and penetrating dampness that engulfed the fabled City of the Gods in the distant north rarely interrupted their lives. Their well-ordered community was thriving in one of the more temperate of Kobol's many microclimates.

Sophia ran her fingers through the grass, which was beaten down in the place where the Raptor had been parked the night before.

"And to have it be Showboat, of all people …" She shook her head in despair.

"It wasn't your policies," Narcho hastened to explain. Losing Claudia Wang, the only medical technician on the entire planet, was a devastating blow. "Showboat and Nightingale were as happy with the communal marriage setup as the rest of us, but Marcia didn't like being second in command—not after having been sent here as expedition leader. She wanted to be a queen bee in her own right … and there can only be one queen in any given hive. As for Red Devil and Parsnip," he added dismissively, "Fleer and Avalon have always done their thinking with their cocks."

"We can't afford to lose their skills," Sophia objected. "We need to bring them back."

"How?" Narcho was, above all things, a realist. "By now, they're probably holed up somewhere in the western hemisphere, and we don't have enough tylium left to try and hunt them down. If we send a Raptor out in pursuit, it might not make it home. So, we write them off, and we move on."

"Just like that? Noel, it's not just their skills that we're losing, though gods only know how desperately we need Claudia's medical knowledge. It's also a question of their genetic material. We may be at the tipping point … and I shouldn't have to lecture you on the dangers of excessive inbreeding."

Narcho shrugged his shoulders; the XO was preaching to the choir, but there were no good options in this mess, only bad ones.

"You're right, Sophia, but still … let it go. Who knows? Maybe they'll have a change of heart … maybe they'll come back. Kobol isn't Paradise, surviving in the wilderness isn't easy, and frankly, Showboat doesn't strike me as the pioneering type. I give them a week … ten days, tops."

"Marcia comes from good, solid peasant stock," Palaikastro replied, with just enough condescension in her voice to make it clear that she didn't mean it as a compliment, "and she's never been much of a team player. You're wrong, Noel … they're gone for good."

"Yeah, well, maybe it's all for the best. Maybe we should have split up at the outset … two groups, one on each continent. There's something to be said for hedging your bets."

"We're just caught a glimpse of our future, Noel." Sophia was now blindly staring at the horizon, and thinking far ahead. "There will always be malcontents … dreamers … people who just want to see what's over the horizon. We can build a community, but no matter how hard we try to hold on to them, our children will spread out and begin claiming this continent for their own. Don't underestimate the frontier spirit; exploring the unknown is a large part of who we are."

"I know," Narcho conceded. "And to be honest, I don't know whether to cheer our absent friends on, or hope that the wilderness buries them. If they survive, their children will also spread out … and their children's children, and so on through the generations. We won't be alive when the day comes, but this can only end one way."

"What's that," Sophia asked. She wasn't quite sure where Noel Allison was going with this.

"In a war," Noel heavily responded; "winner, take all."

. . .

Keeping her eyes firmly shut and her body completely relaxed, Anthia Six began systematically testing her restraints. There was no give in the heavy leather straps that encircled her wrists, and her left ankle was also effectively immobilized. But there was some play in the shackle that bound her right ankle to the table. There wasn't much, but it was a place to start.

"You can quit pretending, Six," a condescending voice called out; "we know that you're awake."

With a start, Anthia opened her eyes, but there was nothing much for the stunningly beautiful red-haired Cylon to see. The vise that imprisoned her head left her staring straight up at the ceiling, and there was a bright light directly overhead. There was no one standing within her admittedly poor range of peripheral vision, so she was not even sure how many of her captors were in the room.

The voice drifted closer, and a face suddenly materialized directly above her. The eyes were alive, and gleaming with malice.

"I trust that you're not too uncomfortable … _yet_," the voice leered.

"What do you want, Carlotti?" Anthia began projecting. Unlike her many sisters, she favored beaches over forests. She found herself lying on a chaise lounge, her body being warmed by the sun that was now directly above her.

"To hear you beg," the gangster succinctly replied.

"Forget it, Enzo. I'm shutting down the pain program, so it doesn't matter how inventive you get. I won't feel a thing, and when I die, I'll resurrect. _That's when the fun will really begin!_"

"Who said anything about killing you?" Enzo's fingers began kneading the nipple of her right breast, and for the first time Anthia realized that she was naked. "I want you to be my guest … indefinitely. If you like, you can critique my performance. We'll all have a lot more fun if you get with the program."

Anthia heard chuckles from various parts of the room. Although she couldn't see them, she reckoned that Carlotti had invited at least four of his thugs to sit in and entertain themselves at her expense.

"You're a fun time girl, aren't you, Six? My friends all tell me that there's a whore inside every one of you, just waiting to burst loose. Rumor has it that your cunt is perpetually wet. Let's see if the rumors are true."

Carlotti's hand drifted lower, and he began to describe lazy circles around the nub of Anthia's clitoris. It was engorged with blood.

"What a marvel you are," Enzo said with seeming admiration. "A machine that so perfectly mimics the human body … a machine that lubricates almost upon demand … how could any human woman hope to compete with such a miracle of engineering?"

"Frak you," Anthia snarled. Anthia loved sex, sometimes even craved it, but always on her own terms. A Six had to be in control. That was any Six's worst fear … losing control.

"Oh, there'll be plenty of time for that later, but not just yet." Without warning, Enzo suddenly rammed two stiffened fingers deep into his captive's vaginal cavity. The Six flinched, and a moment later, her left foot exploded with pain. Timing it perfectly, one of Carlotti's henchmen had slammed a steel rod into the sole of her foot—and he'd held nothing back.

The breath exploded out of Anthia's mouth, and a tiny, involuntary cry escaped her lips.

"_What's this," _Enzo mocked. "Why, Six, have you been lying to me? Hmm? You're supposed to be immune to pain. What's going on?"

"Frak you," she repeated. The Six was defenseless.

"She's got sex on the brain, boss," one of the thugs called out. "And I swear … the bitch really gets off on pain. Does she want some more? Make her beg, boss! Make her beg for it!" The table jumped as he pounded it with the steel rod, each blow inching closer and closer to Anthia's outstretched arms.

"Nah, we'll start her off slow. We wouldn't want our baby to get all hot and bothered on her first night in paradise. We need to keep her cool."

Enzo opened a tap, and suddenly water began to drip onto Anthia's forehead, each tiny drop hitting the same spot, an inch above the bridge of her nose.

Anthia began to blink, more and more rapidly.

"I'm thirsty," Carlotti announced. "Let's go get something to drink."

"Don't forget about Sheba, boss; she's waiting outside."

"Oh, yeah … Sheba."

Anthia's emotions twisted into a knot. She had stumbled upon the human girl during the evacuation exercise. She was obviously lost, and Anthia had taken it upon herself to hustle the teenager to the _Prometheus_, which offered a safe haven for the settlement's strays. En route, a street gang had attacked them, and someone had delivered a hard enough blow to the back of the Six's skull to render her unconscious.

"The girl's just someone I met by chance on the street, Enzo. She's not a part of this, so let her go."

The room erupted in laughter.

"Six," Enzo sneered, "what is it with you? Or you really that gullible, or are you just plain stupid?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Sheba wasn't lost, and you didn't just meet her by chance. She works for me, Six; she's one of my most talented whores. She was the snare, you stepped right into it, and now I'm going to give her a big bonus for delivering you intact. I guess that well-known cylon sense of compassion got the better of you."

Filing out of the room, the gangsters left Anthia Six to ponder her fate.

. . .

Lacy Rand was struggling for breath. For the first time in her life she had to focus, had consciously to will her body to breathe. And with each passing minute, it was taking more and more effort.

Gina was at her side—her beloved Gina. The Six would assume her place as Blessed Mother, would lead their very odd family of true believers into the next generation. The Six had promised her that she would marry and have children of her own—children that, with the passage of generations, would gradually reclaim the worlds for the hybrid species of true believers that would now inhabit the twelve colonies of Man. Gemenon was thriving, and the fledgling colony on Aquaria had already taken root. More would follow in the centuries to come.

"Death is so messy," Lacy confessed between the coughs that wracked her aged body with spasms. "It's so undignified."

"Don't complain, Mother," Gina said with a sad grin. The Six was sitting on the edge of her mentor's bed, and gently patting her hand. Lacy Rand was so much more than the head of their church. Hers was the voice of forgiveness, the voice that combined the tolerance of those whom Clarice Willow had termed the "differently sentient" with the vision of Zoe Graystone. In a very real sense, Lacy Rand was the mother of them all.

"The apotheosis program works," Gina went on; "you will ascend to Heaven, and your spirit will comfort and enlighten the souls of your hybrid daughters for eternity."

"Ah, yes," Lacy whispered, "my daughters. It's funny, really, that I have so many daughters, and yet I have never given birth … not once. I owe John so much. He created Heaven, and he gave me a family to love. The hybrids … so beautiful, so intelligent, so unloved; the universe can be so cruel."

"No, Mother," Gina protested' "there is a balance, a place where love triumphs over indifference. You have taught me that it dwells deep inside the heart of each of us. Cylon or human, in the end it makes no difference."

"You are so wise," Lacy managed. Although her thoughts were still clear, it was becoming increasingly hard for her to speak. She tried to wiggle her toes, but they would no longer obey her commands. "I have left our people in the right hands. You will lead them well … guide them to a safe and prosperous future. I am content."

With a final sigh, the Blessed Mother of the Church of the Monad turned her sightless eyes upon eternity.

. . .

"_We've found them,"_ Six calmly announced. "Our Raiders have crippled one of Adama's Heavy Raiders. Once we have the pilot on board, we shall extract Adama's location, and bring this war to an end."

. . .

"Welcome home, Mother," Olivia said as the spirit of Lacy Rand materialized upon the beach at Galatea Bay.

Lacy wrapped an arm around her daughter's waist, hugged her close, and together they set off along the shore. In the distance, she could see Deirdre standing at the water's edge, her infant daughter crying with joy as the gentle waves lapped over her feet.

It had been a long and winding road. Long ago, the path had taken her to Hell, the debauched and sin stained realm known to Colonials as V-world. But her soul had been redeemed, and a lifetime of service had demonstrated her worthiness.

Lacy Rand had come home.


	34. Chapter 34: Tempest

CHAPTER 34

TEMPEST

"_I frakking well don't believe it," _Eric Lackey exclaimed. He was staring out into space, but he could no longer see the dust cloud that threatened to tear their vessel apart—not with a cylon baseship sitting out there blocking the view.

"What in the name of the gods is Adama thinking? A baseship is overkill; with our engines out, another Heavy Raider could have grappled us and hauled our asses back to New Caprica. Is the bastard trying to intimidate us?"

"The dimensions are wrong," Six murmured. She wasn't simply staring at the baseship that had arrived less than an hour after the Raiders had disabled them. She was studying it.

Six nodded her head decisively, and then turned away. She looked deep into the eyes of her Sagittaron lover.

"Eric, we have very little time before they take us in tow, so listen to me carefully, and do everything that I tell you to do. Do you love me? Do you trust me with your life?"

"Yes," Eric simply replied. His faith in the beautiful, young Cylon who carried his child was absolute.

"This isn't one of Adama's baseships; it's one of the new, super basestars that were scheduled to enter the collective this year."

"Cavil." Eric spat out the word. He didn't need Six to draw him a picture. "We've been captured by the enemy … _the real enemy_."

"Yes," Six agreed. "And we can't prevent them from pulling up the coordinates for New Caprica unless we destroy our ship. I'll resurrect, but you won't, and neither will the baby. That's a price I'm not willing to pay."

"What's to prevent Cavil from killing us both anyway," Eric asked in return. The bitterness was like an acid that was etching a hole in his throat. They had been so close to making their escape … _so close_!

"We have to convince the Ones that it is not in their best interest to do so. If we are to succeed, we shall both have to play a role, just like actors on a stage. My part is easy. Even if they force me to enter the stream, all I have to do is give them a slightly modified version of the truth. I was captured, imprisoned, convicted of a crime I've never really understood, then placed on probation. We met, and I pretended to fall in love with you so that you would help me to escape. In time, however, I developed real feelings for you—those of a master for her pet. Now, I want to keep you around because you amuse me, and because you do have your uses … in bed. The Ones will find that easy to believe; they are obsessed with sex."

"Gods on high …"

"I know, I know … it's your part that will be the real challenge. You must pretend to be taken completely by surprise, then become outraged, and finally … betrayed. When they board us, be protective … make it obvious that you love me. Then, when you discover that I've played you for a fool, let your love turn to hate. The more you hate me, the easier it will be for me to persuade the Cavils to keep you alive. They're sadists, and will enjoy watching you suffer."

"That's so sick …"

"It is what it is … we have to work with what we've got. But don't give them the baby, Eric. I'm not showing yet, and I will do everything I can to keep the knowledge out of the stream. The Ones," Six added in a matter-of-fact tone, "will dissect me if they find out the truth."

"That's not going to happen." Eric's tone was equally grim. "At all costs, we keep the baby safe."

Eric swept Six into his arms and kissed her savagely. The universe had become a very strange and dangerous place, but there was one constant, and that was his love for this woman … this cylon. If he had to kill them all, human and cylon alike, to keep her safe, then he would do so without a moment's hesitation.

. . .

"Adama's using Heavy Raiders to patrol the nebula?" Cavil frowned, the alarm bells going off silently inside his brain. He had lost far too many ships not to be suspicious of the bait that was now dangling right in front of him. "Either he's very trusting, or pigs have learned how to fly!"

"It might well be both," Six cautioned. "Mixed crews would promote cooperation between human and cylon, and discourage the distrust that our two species naturally harbor for one another."

"Yeah, well, I don't like it," Cavil snarled. "The ship's probably a flying bomb that'll blow up in our faces as soon as we bring it on board. With our luck, it's probably carrying a fifty megaton nuke."

"The radiological alarm has not sounded, brother." Six was trying to be diplomatic, but as was usually the case, the One's whining was getting on her nerves. "And try looking at it from Adama's point of view. The Heavy Raider is hardened against EMP that would fry the electronics on a Raptor, and its jump range is in a class by itself. It is, in every measurable way, the better vehicle, especially in an environment with so much magnetic flux and gamma radiation."

"I still don't like it," Cavil stubbornly remarked. "I want two full squads of centurions in the hangar bay, just in case …"

"Just in case what, brother? Whoever's flying the ship can't erase the launch coordinates from organic memory, so unless they self-destruct we won't even have to interrogate the pilots. The computer will lead us straight to Adama, and the rest of the humans won't be far away."

"All right, all right … enough, already. I'm looking forward to having a nice, cozy little chat with the frakker who's flying that bird. Our brother or sister has a lot of explaining to do …"

"And if there's a human on board," Six countered, "she's all yours, _but he's all mine_!"

. . .

Seated in the cramped confines of her stealth Viper, Angela Eight coasted deeper into the rift, on a course that brought her steadily closer to home. Thoughts of home, however, brought her no pleasure. She was coasting in order to avoid detection from the swarm of enemy Raiders that blanketed her course, but there was a limit to how long she could drift.

Angela was on point, scouting the approach to New Caprica for Natalie Six and the small fleet that followed several light minutes behind her. She was not particularly surprised that the Ones had positioned scouts of their own in the rift- indeed, she would have been alarmed if there had been no sign of enemy activity—but she still had no feel for the size of the enemy force, hence could not determine its intent. All she could do was stay on course, avoid contact, and hope that the situation would become clearer before the magnetic storms that buffeted her tiny ship brought her to a complete halt. She still had forward momentum, but it was decreasing by the second, and soon she would have to fire up her engines, either to advance or retreat.

_So what are you doing here,_ she thought out loud. _Are you an isolated trip wire meant to snare the unwary, or are you on the perimeter of Cavil's main fleet? When you sound the alarm, will it summon the Ones, or are they already here, readying an invasion of New Caprica?_

Angela Eight pushed deeper into the rift. She would maintain her present heading until the last possible moment. If the Cavils had a baseship somewhere ahead of her, she needed to find it, and make the element of surprise work for Natalie rather than against her.

. . .

Lee Adama literally staggered off the Raptor, his knees buckling with fatigue as he boarded _Galactica_. He was bone weary, and it was not merely overseeing the evacuation exercise and carrying out the tedious but vital review of the settlement's performance that had worn him down. Lee took his responsibilities as National Security Adviser to the President seriously. Given his personality and temperament, he could not do otherwise. It was at all times a big job, but there were occasions when his duties were crushing. Today had been one of them.

Lee looked up, spotted Creusa walking calmly towards him, the huge smile on her lips that sparkled in her eyes, and his fatigue faded like the morning mist in the presence of a rising sun. He had forgotten how beautiful she was—the long, ash blond tresses, the intense blue of her eyes, the finely sculpted features of a face that defined perfection. But it was the joy in her eyes and the eagerness of her smile that engulfed him—that, and the tiny bundle that she was cradling in her arms. Cyrene, his daughter, surely destined to grow up to be the most beautiful woman on this or any other world.

Lee rushed forward and swept his wife and child into his arms. He hugged them both, struggling to find the words, always so inadequate, that would give voice to his feelings. "You have no idea how much I love you," he finally sighed. "I've missed the two of you so much."

"I know," Creusa murmured in return. She hugged Cyrene protectively to her bosom, slightly worried that in his eagerness to embrace them Lee would inadvertently crush the life out of their daughter. She brushed his mouth with a kiss that lingered, and felt the fire in his lips as he reciprocated. It was good to be loved. It was good to be a wife and mother. For a Cylon, everything about life was good.

"Do you want to hold her?" Polyxena had counseled the young Six to ease Apollo gently into fatherhood, and to take nothing for granted. She had stressed how first-time fathers, in their ignorance, often made mistakes with their newborns, and how costly these mistakes could sometimes be. It was readily apparent to both Shelly and Creusa that, in this one area, the teenaged human did not hold either Lee or Bill in high regard.

"_Gods, yes," _Lee exclaimed. He took Cyrene in his arms, being careful to support her head; he had been paying attention to Xena's lectures. He knew that he still had a lot to learn about fatherhood, but this part at least he could already get right. He was, however, secretly thankful that Creusa was nursing, and that he had largely escaped the terrifying task of diaper changing. The watery green poop that his daughter was expelling reminded him of nothing quite so much as the equally greenish puke that he had been known to vomit after going a few rounds too many with the ambrosia bottle.

Thoughts of Kara Thrace slid perversely through Apollo's susceptible brain. He knew exactly how the irreverent fighter pilot would react to his feeble attempts at parenting. It was a safe bet that Starbuck was more than a thousand light years away, but Apollo swore that he could hear her laughter echoing through the myriad corners of his mind.

. . .

"Welcome home, sister," Six gloated. She was standing at the base of the Heavy Raider's ramp, hands on hips, two centurions flanking her. "Have you enjoyed your time among the humans?" Six made no attempt to keep the malice out of her voice.

"Oh, please," Six retorted as she casually walked down the ramp. "Do you have any idea how bad a human stinks? It's good to be home." She looked casually around the landing bay. "So this is one of our new super basestars. It's impressive … a true monument to the superiority of machine technology."

Six's triumphant smile faded, and a confused look took its place. This was not what she had been expecting.

Six turned around, and looked up the ramp. "Eric? It's okay. You can come out now; we're among friends."

Eric Lackey emerged from the shadows, and stared down at the two Sixes. For all that he could tell them apart, they might as well have been identical twins. He understood now why his beloved had spent the last few minutes drilling code phrases into his dazed brain.

L_isten to me, Eric … listen carefully! _More than anything else, it was her sense of urgency that had finally got him to focus. _The Ones are as paranoid as they are devious. Be prepared for them to send another Six to you. She'll pretend to be me, and she'll pump you for information … try and uncover a lie that will prove me to be a traitor to my species. Don't take anything you see here … or anyone … at face value. Do you remember the candy striped uniform that I was wearing when we first met? Do you remember the taste of our first kiss? I won't volunteer such details, so you must use them to distinguish me from the other copies. Don't deviate from the script, and don't let your guard down; if they catch me in a lie, they'll kill us both. . . ._

Eric forced himself to put one foot in front of another, but walking down the ramp seemed to take forever. And the look on the Six's face … he was a Sagittaron, and he had seen that look far too often in his young life. Anticipation mixed with cruelty- it was the look of an exceedingly dangerous predator. The foot soldiers in the underworld of the Brotherhood had mastered that look generations before.

A shiver went down his spine. Eric Lackey felt like dinner was about to be served, and he was the main course.

. . .

"What have you learned," Hiris snapped.

"Nothing that we didn't already know." Dino Panyattes shrugged, as if the answer to the Six's question was obvious. "The Sons of Ares took her. Carlotti isn't even bothering to deny it; he wants us to know that he's got Anthia, and that there's nothing we can do about it. And for the moment at least, he's right: Enzo's got a hundred dives at his disposal, and our people haven't been able to locate her. Your sister has gone off the grid."

"Frak! He'll torture her, but not to the point of death—he's smart enough to understand resurrection tech. Her only escape will be madness."

It was every Six's fear—Shelly Godfrey's enduring legacy. Every copy knew what would happen if they fell into Cavil's hands, but Anthia was paying the price for sheltering Shevon and dozens of other human females who daily walked the streets in search of customers. Anthia had prevented the Sons of Ares from monopolizing the prostitution racket on New Caprica, which worked to the advantage of the Ha'la'tha, but she was now paying a steep price for her benevolence.

"Let's send Carlotti a message," the Six decreed. "Get our girls off the streets, and then grab ten of his. Put them in the holding cell on _Prometheus_, and then pass the word. Release Anthia, or we start to play rough … really, really rough."

. . .

_He's young, good looking … it will be fun training him to serve me …_

Six looked at the human, and shivered with delight. This Eric Lackey was no Lee Adama, but he would do nicely for an appetizer. _Besides_, Six thought, _I need to refine my techniques before I take on Apollo. This specimen will give me a chance to practice … to find out what works on a human, and what doesn't. . . ._

Six nodded to the centurion standing to her right. The machine clanked up the ramp, and disappeared into the Heavy Raider's shadowy interior. It would retrieve the coordinates for the planet on which the humans had taken refuge, and with that the final assault could begin.

. . .

"_Frak!" _Angela Eight was cursing under her breath, a steady stream of all too human curses that would have done any Viper pilot proud. She had allowed her stealth craft to drift deeper into the rift before finally lighting up her engines just long enough to alter her course. Given the risk of detection, this had been a desperate gamble, but going dead in space would have been worse yet. Somehow, she had got away with it, and now she was hugging the perimeter of an asteroid belt that had been charted months earlier. It was less than a light year from New Caprica.

Enemy Raider traffic had been steadily increasing over the last few minutes, and it was all flowing in the same direction—all flowing towards the planet. It was clear that the Ones had found their new home world, and that an all-out attack was imminent.

Looking up through the top of her canopy, Angela watched the procession like a spectator at a parade. Three baseships, a resurrection ship, and thousands of Raiders were advancing at an unhurried, almost majestic pace.

And there was nothing that Angela could do about it.

"_Frak," _she cursed anew. She needed to spin up her engines and report back to the fleet—but would her heat signature escape detection a second time? No one, she decided, could be that lucky. The risk was simply too great, and if they spotted her, it would be just like the Cavils to set a trap and wait for Natalie recklessly to advance in a last-ditch effort to save the planet. They could destroy her fleet first, and then take New Caprica at their leisure.

Angela kept her fists in her lap … well away from the controls. Leading their ships into an ambush wouldn't help Adama in the slightest, and so she did nothing—well, almost nothing.

Sitting there, unable to do anything that would alter the now inexorable march of events, Angela Eight watched the parade pass by, and she continued to curse, the invective becoming more and more colorful, and increasingly inventive.

. . .

"Brother," Six said, "we have recovered the coordinates. We know the precise location of this planet that the humans have dubbed New Caprica. And we owe our good fortune to my sister here." Six elegantly swept her hand in Six's direction. "She has played the humans for fools, with this young man being the biggest fool of them all!"

"_What? Six, what the frak is she talking about?"_ Six had brought her captives to the control room; she figured that Cavil would want to look them over and weigh Six's strange but entirely plausible tale for himself.

Eric was scared out of his wits. He was pale, and he could not stop shaking. He had never been so afraid in his life, and now he was trying to turn fear into outrage. The way the One was looking at him, sizing him up … Six was right. Both of their lives were now hanging in the balance. Outrage … raw, blistering anger … the thunderous crash of all his hopes in an avalanche of betrayal … he had to get this right, had to turn in an award winning performance, or they were both dead.

"_Six," _he repeated, his tone pleading, still hopeful, but increasingly confused. Cavil read the desperation in his eyes, saw the way the door was opening in his mind, the dawning thought that Six was right, and that from the very beginning he had been manipulated by an unfeeling machine.

The One shifted his attention to his younger sister. He was not about to take her at face value; there had been too many betrayals, and it was distinctly possible that she was a stalking horse, her pretty tale a fabrication designed to lure him into yet another trap. He had badly underestimated the human capacity for deception … or was the Abomination alone responsible for the string of unexpected defeats that his forces had suffered over the past months? If Six was working for Bierns, he would make her regret the day that she had come out of the crèche.

"Let's hear it," he impatiently commanded.

"On Caprica," Six began, "I was one of those in charge of the breeding program. When we left the system, I continued to monitor the human females on the _Hippolyte_; it was there that the humans captured me. They put me on trial for something called 'crimes against humanity', and of course I was convicted. Rather than box me, they sentenced me to perform what they call 'community service'. I had to report every day to a hospital, and nurse their sick. _It was disgusting!_" Six's face screwed up; her loathing for everything human was now abundantly clear. "Brother," she continued, "you have no idea. Even a healthy human stinks, but there is no word to describe the stench that comes off the sick ones. There were times when I would have welcomed being boxed. Oblivion would have been better by far than the living Hell to which they had condemned me. And then I met Eric. . . ."

Cavil glanced at the human prisoner. He was staring at the Six, disbelief etched on his face. Clearly, the human didn't credit a word that Six was saying . . .

"Go on," he urged. The human's reaction was … interesting.

"Eric had been hospitalized with one of their many diseases, but he was well on the way to recovery …"

Six paused. She wanted to give the Ones enough detail for her story to pass muster, but not so much that they could start to poke holes in it. And it bothered her that they had brought Eric to the control room. Had the Ones learned nothing from the humans? Why had they not been separated? Why were they allowing him to hear her version of events? None of it made sense.

"Look," she continued, "I don't want to bore you with the details. Caprica Six was encouraging me to take a human mate, and Eric was obviously interested. He's very good looking, but he's also quite submissive … the ideal human pet …"

"_Oh, give me a break,"_ Eric growled. "You were in heat from the moment we met. I didn't exactly have to beg you to crawl into my bed!"

"No, that's true," Six rejoined. "I like sex, and you are good looking, but it was very easy to seduce you. Really, it was no trouble at all."

"Of course not; you're gorgeous, and I freely admit that that starched white uniform of yours really turned me on. Big deal … I've always had a thing for nurses. As fetishes go, it's pretty harmless."

_Hmm, _Six mused, _I have underestimated this human. He has more to teach me than I realized. I must learn about these fetishes. Perhaps Lee has one that I can use to enslave him …_

"Eric and I mated," Six went on; "and after the Sagittaron uprising was crushed, we decided to flee into the wilderness and take our chances. When Caprica Six sent centurions out to hunt us down, I saw my chance. I persuaded Eric to double back to the settlement. We stole a Heavy Raider, loaded it with as many supplies as we could scavenge … and here we are."

"Yes," Cavil murmured in a voice almost too low to hear, "about those supplies. For refugees fleeing in the dead of night, your ship is very well supplied. Did you have a particular destination in mind?" The One's eyes had taken on a very dangerous gleam. He was now convinced that this was a trap. Adama should have sent the Six out with next to nothing … _that_ would have been believable.

"Kobol," Six replied without hesitation. "It's the only other habitable planet out there, so it was the logical place to wait for you to show up."

"Your good fortune astounds me," Cavil sarcastically retorted. "A Heavy Raider just waiting for you to pop up and steal it … food and water in abundance … yes, you've done very well."

"Hey, it's called improvisation," Eric proudly cut in, "and we Sagittarons are damn good at it." This part was easy: tell the truth, brag about how smart he'd been, and take most of the credit. "Six had to break an Eight's neck to steal the ship, and one fine night we started a fire in a warehouse. While everyone was stumbling around trying to put out the blaze, we broke into another warehouse and stole our water barrels. Food … that was no problem … you ever heard of hunting? Fishing? Gathering? We survived because your sister here was smart enough to do what I told her, no questions asked. Left to her own devices," he added dismissively, "she would have starved to death inside a week."

"Tell us about this Sagittaron uprising," Six interrupted. "What happened?"

"The other colonies have discriminated against us from the very beginning, so when the Mellorak sickness broke out and a few of us ended up in hospital, Baltar and his buddies decided to isolate the whole Sagittaron population … probably hoped that the disease would kill us all off and solve their Sagittaron problem once and for all ..."

"We heard gunfire," Six interjected, "but we don't know who started it. In the end, it hardly mattered; Adama's marines slaughtered everyone in their path. Eric may well be one of the few remaining Sagittarons."

"What are you thinking, Six?" Cavil looked at his sister, who was frowning and obviously deep in thought.

"If there are other Sagittarons still out there," the devious blond slowly replied, "they should welcome us as liberators. Perhaps one of them would be willing to serve as President … though of course he would need our support in order to govern effectively. A formal treaty … a request that we supply military assistance … I sense real possibilities here."

"Tom Zarek is currently Vice-President," Eric grinned knowingly. He wanted to hug the Six, who appeared to have fallen for their story hook, line and sinker. Surviving this day no longer looked like an exercise in wishful thinking.

"So what," Cavil snarled; he couldn't believe that his brothers were falling for this crap, but looking around the control room, it was obvious that the other Ones did not share his suspicions.

"He's a Sagittaron freedom fighter who spent twenty years in a maximum security prison defending his ideals …"

"He blew up a government building and got caught," Six translated. She wanted to hug Eric; her lover had certainly risen to the occasion.

"The point is that Zarek's ambitious," Eric stressed; "and he knows how to nurse a grudge. He hates Capricans in general and people like Adama and Roslin in particular. Put him in power and the influential types you should really fear are going to start disappearing …"

"_Excellent,"_ Six clapped; "this is going to turn out far better than I had expected."

"I hate to bore you with petty details, Six, but don't you think we should conquer the mud ball before we start governing it?" Cavil threw his hands into the air in disgust; he sensed another disaster in the making.

"It always helps to have a game plan before you take to the Pyramid court," Eric suggested helpfully.

"Enough, already!" Now Cavil was staring up at the ceiling in a truly noble attempt to keep his temper in check. For a brief moment, he thought about killing the human, but he somehow managed to resist the impulse. _He'll have his uses;_ the One kept telling himself … _he'll have his uses . . . ._

"Six," he ordered, "entertain this human. "As for you, Six, there's a Three on board that I'd like you to meet; I'll take you to her myself. When I get back," he admonished the other Ones, "we'll kick this project into gear!"

As she walked away, Six suddenly paused, turned around, and looked back at the man she loved so completely.

"I should thank you, Eric; without your assistance, it would have been impossible for me to escape and make my way home. Although there were times when I had to hold my nose, on the whole you were sufficiently creative to make my time with you tolerable. With proper training, which I intend to administer, you will become fit to kneel before me."

"Only if you're on your back with your legs spread, begging for it," Eric fired back. "Otherwise, you can kiss my Sagittaron ass! Bitch!"

Six's eyes narrowed. "Sister," she angrily replied, "While I am engaged with the Three, I would like you to begin his training. Do whatever you think necessary to insure his compliance with our wishes. I want my slaves to obey without question, and I will no longer tolerate such back talk. And speaking of asses … _mark him_!"

Six turned away without another word. She left the control room with her head held high. She did not want Cavil to see the tears that threatened to stain her cheek.

. . .

"Something's wrong," Natalie declared; "Angela has failed to report in, and she's badly overdue. This isn't like her at all."

"Should we send out a Raider to investigate," Hoshi queried. He shared the Six's sense of unease. The Eight was far and away their best pilot, as responsible as she was reliable. It was not like her to miss the deadline for a rendezvous.

"Just one," Natalie decided. "If the Ones have stationed Raiders of their own in this rift, I don't want to set off their detection grid."

"Angela won't give up our position," Racetrack declared. The entire senior staff was gathered in the baseship's control center. "But you're right … enemy contact is the most likely explanation for her failure to report."

"I'm going to order the fleet to come to a halt," Natalie said. "We'll maintain our present position until we have a clearer sense of what's going on."

At the far end of the room, the pair of Sixes who had been serving as Natalie's tactical officers since the battle over Caprica entered the stream. A moment later, a lone Raider dropped out of its aerie and accelerated away.

"Can we jump to New Caprica," Bierns finally asked. After his recent confrontation with Natalie, in an effort to be more diplomatic he had chosen to steer clear of what had so far been a purely tactical discussion.

"No … no, we're still too far out." Leoben was also in the stream, and he had put the question directly to their hybrid. "We can't lock in the coordinates at this distance because of the magnetic storms. We have to get closer, and until we find out what's happened to the Eight, jumping deeper into the rift would be unwise."

"So, we sit," Natalie declared. "I don't like it any more than you do, John, but we send out scouts for a reason, and when they don't report back we assume the worst."

. . .

Sharon wrapped her arms tightly around Philista's waist, and gently kissed the nape of her wife's neck.

"Mmm," Philista purred; "that feels good." She closed her eyes, and the tension flowed out of her body. It had been a hectic morning; Marc had left the house shortly after dawn to get an early start on a construction project, but the evacuation drill had caught Sharon and Philista in bed. They were still picking up the pieces after Philista's miscarriage, and the alert had sounded at the worst possible moment. Grumbling about the unfairness of it all, the pair had hastily dressed, holstered their weapons, and fled into the forest. They did not, however, have far to go; Sharon Agathon, who was their team leader, had cached an impressive array of armaments eight hundred meters in. Heavy assault rifles … explosive rounds for their handguns … grenades—everything that a guerilla force would need to stand a chance in combat against the centurions was waiting in a nondescript shed deep in the woods.

Philista knew that there were scores of weapons depots scattered around the perimeter of the settlement, and rumor had it that Lee Adama had built up an entire army of centurions somewhere out in the wilderness. If the Cavils ever showed up looking for a fight, the people of New Caprica would give them one.

"Did you like breakfast," Sharon inquired. When the all clear had sounded, she had insisted that Philista go back to bed while she busied herself in the kitchen. Sharon was working hard to repair the damage that she had unwittingly inflicted upon their relationship; on a practical level, this meant that she was doing everything that she could think of to please her mate. She simply did not know what else to do.

"It was wonderful," Philista acknowledged … but this is infinitely better." Sharon's tongue was magic, and the Eight was slowly but methodically working her way down Philista's back. Eventually, she would reach one particular spot at the base of Philista's spine, which would set off a fire so intense that it threatened to consume her. But Sharon would never relent: her tongue would continue its journey of exploration through the canyons between Philista's thighs. When the young human finally came, she knew that it would feel as if her legs had melted completely away.

. . .

"I don't understand."

Six had no idea what Cavil expected her to say. Nor did she understand why he had brought her here.

The chamber was featureless—one of the innumerable, anonymous warrens to be found on any cylon ship. There was no furniture, but it wasn't empty.

Six stared down at the Three and the Eight. For one terrifying moment, she was convinced that she had tumbled into the Sisyphean depths of Hades, and that she would never find the way out. The Three was lying on the floor, her back pressed hard into the wall, her legs, equally stiff, all but glued to the deck. She was heavily chained, and her body was a sea of welts, bruises, and dried blood. Her left eye was blackened, and her upper lip was badly swollen. It was obvious that she had been tortured.

Despite her manacles, the Three was cradling the Eight against her shoulder. The Eight was unmarked, but her eyes were devoid of life, and she was drooling.

The stench of urine and feces was overwhelming.

"How does it compare with that hospital of yours," Cavil asked; "the smell, I mean?"

"This is worse," Six whispered; "this is so much worse than anything I experienced on New Caprica. What … what is wrong with the Eight?"

"She was obsessing over a human who wasn't interested," Cavil shrugged. "She couldn't handle rejection, and the end result was a first in the collective's history—a nervous breakdown. We had to simplify her programming. Think of it," he leered, "as the cylon equivalent of a lobotomy."

"Of course, he's lying," the Three quietly lisped. "He's stolen her intellect but increased her sex drive … turned her into a baby machine. She's the prototype for an entire generation of Eights—mindless drones who will sleep with any human male in order to become pregnant. The hybrid children will be tested … culled … with the best and brightest condemned to replace the current hybrids in some future generation of baseships. Cylon logic combined with human intuition … it should shave precious seconds off response times in whatever war the Ones are planning next. Of course, they're insane."

"Pardon my lack of manners," Cavil jovially responded. Seeing the Three in this humiliating state never failed to lift his spirits. "Six," he said, "this … _this … _is D'Anna! You might want to get her autograph because this is not your ordinary, humdrum, run-of-the-mill Three … oh, no, no, no. This is the _first_ Three … the eldest of all the cylon daughters! And speaking of hybrids, D'Anna was also the first cylon to give birth. Perhaps you've met her son …"

"Major Bierns … the First Born … _you're his birth mother_?" Six was awed. This Three must have known the Makers … must have _spoken with them_! Meeting her was little short of meeting God.

"Made his acquaintance, have you," Cavil rhetorically asked. "I'll bet that was fun!"

Six shivered. She couldn't help herself.

"He interrogated me on _Galactica_ … and no, it certainly wasn't fun. It was frightening. His eyes … they're so strange … so … so … _inhuman_. He's supposed to be part centurion. I believe it."

"His one redeeming feature," Cavil chuckled. "Alas," he sighed theatrically, "in all other respects he's been a terrible disappointment."

"My son is a thorn in One's side," D'Anna crowed. "He has carried out the commands that I implanted deep within his unborn mind, and made peace between man and machine."

"_You did what?"_ Six was genuinely startled. "I don't understand. Why are we at war with the humans if there is supposed to be peace between us?"

"Call it a philosophical disagreement," Cavil glowered. He didn't like to have his nose rubbed in the Abomination's successes, which were ultimately a testament to his mother's iron will—and to the fact that she had outwitted him.

"Look, I have a war to fight," Cavil said as he turned to leave. Two centurions had suddenly appeared in the hatchway. "D'Anna, why don't you entertain our sister, here—fill her head with more of your lies. Take your time, because Six isn't going anywhere. These centurions will see to it."

"What is this, brother?" Six feigned outrage. "I didn't go to all the trouble of escaping only to be imprisoned by my own kind …"

"Then pray to that god of yours that your story checks out because if it doesn't … you and Three will be sharing more than this cell!"

. . .

"Dad, I have a problem and I can't get a handle on it. I need your help."

Apollo collapsed onto the couch in the Admiral's quarters.

Bill looked around at what had once been his personal space. The crib on the opposite side of the desk offered mute testimony to how much his life had changed since that first day, when Shelly Godfrey had sat exactly where his son was sitting now.

"Son, I hope you're not looking for parental advice," Bill deadpanned. "Rumor has it that I've been a miserable failure as a father."

"It wasn't for lack of trying," Lee quipped. "I've never met anyone who worked as hard as you did to be a miserable failure. You turned failure into an art form!"

"Just a slow learner, I guess." Bill took off his glasses and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Third time's supposed to be the charm; maybe this time I'll get it right."

"At the very least, Xena will make sure that you don't do irreparable harm. Mom could have used someone like her after Zak was born."

"Yeah, your mom needed all the help she could get." Bill was thinking about the alcohol; in his absence, the bottle had become Carolanne's best friend.

"So, what's the problem?"

"The evacuation drill went well, except at the top. With two pregnant wives in tow, our esteemed President can't get to his bunker fast enough to avoid capture. I'm assuming, of course, that the Ones have identified _Colonial One_, and made it a high value target."

"That's a pretty safe bet, son—and Sharon and Tory aren't going to run any faster until their babies are born. So, you have to change the equation."

"How?"

"I see two possibilities. The first would be to move the seat of government to a more secure location."

"Baltar won't go for it. He'll never admit it, but it's a matter of ego. Laura Roslin governed the fleet from behind that desk, and gods only know how many times Gaius sat across from her. In his mind, _Colonial One_ is the presidency."

"He might like the alternative even less."

"Which is?"

"The next time you conduct an exercise, leave the women behind. Baltar's not pregnant … he can move fast enough."

"Frak!"

"If you put it to him bluntly enough, perhaps he'll agree to shift his harem to a more secure location."

Lee climbed to his feet. "I need to get back to the surface," he concluded. "I'll run both of your suggestions by the President; we'll see what he says."

"Will you be coming back up later?"

Lee nodded. "Creusa wants to stay on _Galactica_ … to help Shelly. I'll try and make it back for dinner."

Bill reached out to grip Lee's shoulders, stared into his eyes, and then on impulse hugged him close.

"It's good to see you again, son. Don't be a stranger."

'I won't, dad." Apollo hugged his father in return. "Not that Callista and Cyrene are going to give us much choice!"

. . .

"You should not have insulted my sister in front of the others," Six warned. "Such behavior cannot go unpunished."

"Yeah, well, for all I care, the bitch can go frak herself. And while I'm at it … screw you!"

Six lashed out with her right hand, slapping Eric hard enough to send him reeling two or three steps backward.

"Take off your clothes," she ordered; "all of them."

"Get stuffed, bitch."

"Would you prefer the centurions to do it for you?" There were two of them in the chamber, their malevolent red eyes fixed on the human.

Reluctantly, Eric began to disrobe. He took his time, but in the end he was completely naked.

"Take him," Six instructed the centurions. "Hold his arms out to the side, but don't crush or dislocate the bones."

Once Eric was suitably helpless, Six removed a piece of stiff cable from her pocket, and shoved it in his face. "My sister said to mark you, but she didn't say how severely. I was going to let you off easy, but I can see now that that would have been a mistake. You need to learn obedience if you are to serve us properly."

Six disappeared behind him, and a moment later his buttocks exploded with pain. It felt as if the cylon had touched him with a red-hot poker.

"Frak," Eric whispered through gritted teeth. He was determined not to scream, but above all, not to beg.

Two more strokes followed in short order.

"These welts are quite impressive," Six commented as she stepped back to survey her handiwork. "I wonder what it will take to make them bleed?"

She lashed out again, and was pleased to see blood begin to ooze out of one of the angry red lines that would permanently scar the foolish young man.

"Is this all you've got," Eric mockingly laughed. "My mother whipped me harder than this—two or three times a week, for years. You're a pussy."

The infuriated Six struck Eric again, and again. Somewhere in the haze of pain that slowly overwhelmed him, he passed out.

. . .

When Eric regained consciousness, he felt a cold weight draped around his neck. He ran his fingers over its smooth surface.

"We call that an obedience collar. It has an electrode that is embedded in your central nervous system, at the base of the medulla oblongata. This device controls the duration and intensity of the pain that you will receive." She opened her hand to show him the small controller resting in her palm.

"Allow me to demonstrate."

This time, Eric screamed.

. . .

"Have you loaded the activation program," Cavil asked one of his brothers when he returned to the control room.

"It's done," Cavil responded. "However, I propose that we send six Raiders, not three. One group will target the ships in orbit, the other will pass directly over the main settlement."

"Do it," Cavil ordered.

. . .

"DRADIS contact," Dionysia shouted. "Three Raiders traversing the fleet, and they're not ours!" Six's station had been quiet for so long that the bogies had taken her completely by surprise.

"Admiral," Dualla cut in, "they're emitting high frequency bursts … a transmission of some kind."

"A transmission," Adama repeated. He looked dumbly at Sonya Six. "Who the hell is on the receiving end?"

The XO shook her head. She was as mystified as the admiral.

"Three more Raiders have just entered the upper atmosphere; course and trajectory suggest that they are targeting the settlement."

"Admiral," Amy called out, "the baseship is powering up its missile batteries …"

"Good," Adama grunted. "XO, set Condition One throughout the ship. Dee, open a scrambled channel to _Colonial One_; flash traffic for Lee … Billy … whoever responds. Traffic reads: CYLON ATTACK IMMINENT. THIS IS NO DRILL. REPEAT THIS IS NO DRILL.


	35. Chapter 35: Maelstrom

CHAPTER 35

MAELSTROM

"Oh, for gods sakes," Baltar whined; "I can't believe that we are even having this conversation. I am the President of the Colonies, and you … you … are one of my advisors. Surely, Mr. Adama, you can do better than this!"

Gaius rose from his chair and leaned forward, his hands flat on the desktop, invading Apollo's space. "In the public imagination," he continued, "_Colonial One_ is more than just the seat of government. It is a symbol, like the Opera House on Kobol. It is a tangible link to our past and to all that we have lost. We are _not_ going to sever this connection by moving the government to an underground bunker, which is what you seem to be suggesting. Nor are we going to sacrifice Tory and Sharon on the altar of your incompetence. If there's a problem here, I expect you to fix it. But bring me a practical solution, not some harebrained scheme that simply papers over the problem!"

"Mr. President, I have discussed this matter with the Admiral, and I've done some research on my own. The security protocol that was in place during the Adar administration called for evacuation of the President, the Vice-President, members of the cabinet, and other key personnel. This is the Case Orange protocol, under which then Secretary of Education Laura Roslin became President. Case Orange did not extend to family members …"

"Then think of Sharon and Tory as key government officials," Baltar cut in. "I ask you: would you really want either of them to fall into Cavil's hands?" The President waved his arms in the air in frustration. "Tory is my senior political advisor, and Sharon spends more time sitting behind this desk than I do. I try not to delude myself about such things, Mr. Adama. I am a scientist; frankly, politics bores me. But Sharon and Tory are both political animals. If you are truly worried about keeping the government up and running after another apocalypse, you should concentrate on them because from one day to the next they are the ones who keep this government working."

"Perhaps we can arrive at a compromise," Lee suggested. "Suppose you remain on _Colonial One_, and we set up office space for your wives closer to …"

"Excuse me, Mr. President, but you need to see this." Billy Keikeya had rushed into the President's office, and the expression on his face was grim. He handed a single sheet of paper to Baltar, who scanned its contents in a single glance.

"Oh, not again," he complained. "I simply don't believe it." He passed the sheet to Lee.

CYLON ATTACK IMMINENT. THIS IS NO DRILL. REPEAT THIS IS NO DRILL.

Apollo looked hard at Billy Keikeya. "This is from _Galactica_?"

"It came in on a scrambled channel. The authentication is correct. It's from the Admiral."

"How long …?"

"Abut ninety seconds."

"Get the President to shelter, Billy; _do it now_! I'll make the announcement."

"We need to move, Mr. President," Billy urged.

"What? Twice in one day? This is preposterous." Gaius settled back in his chair. _Enough is enough,_ he thought; _I'm not going anywhere._

"It's not my father's job to conduct evacuation exercises," Lee pointedly remarked. "This is the real thing."

Baltar's face turned pale, but Lee was no longer there to see it. He rushed out of the chamber and made straight for _Colonial One's _bridge. The ship's communications console doubled as a public address system. Loudspeakers would carry Apollo's voice to every corner of the settlement.

"_Attention … your attention, please; this is Lee Adama. A cylon attack on New Caprica is underway. This is not a drill. I say again: this is not a drill. All personnel are to report to their assigned shelters or duty stations."_

A siren began to blare, but he paid it no attention. Lee switched to a scrambled frequency, and attempted to make contact with _Galactica's _CIC.

There was no answer.

. . .

Cavil looked up from the stream. "The Raiders have returned," he announced.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Cavil sourly responded. "What did they find?"

"One flight traversed the fleet without incident. The second wing overflew what appears to be the only settlement on the planet. They were not challenged; we experienced no losses."

"Really? Adama must have been taking a nap." Cavil was pacing around the control center, deep in thought. Everything was going as planned, and that made him doubly suspicious. "No matter. Did they make the broadcast?"

"Yes … on the prearranged frequency. By now, the transmission should have activated the Eights and that lunatic hybrid. With any luck, they should be making a real mess of Adama's day."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Cavil snorted. "Recall the Raiders," he ordered; "let's get this show on the road."

. . .

From her vantage point on the fringes of the asteroid belt, Angela Eight watched the Raiders stream back to their nests. Now, it was only a matter of time. She waited and she watched as, one by one, the ships in Cavil's fleet winked out of existence. She knew exactly where they would come out of jump, and she fired up her engines to carry the bad news back to Natalie and John.

. . .

"Admiral, the baseship is launching missiles!" At the tactical desk, Amy Eight couldn't credit what the sensor feed was telling her.

"Confirmed," Dionysia Six reported. "I'm tracking twenty-three missiles inbound."

"_Inbound?" _ Adama shook his head in confusion. _"What is the target?"_

"The civilian ships," Dionysia softly replied. In a matter of seconds, the fleet was going to be eviscerated, and there was nothing that she or anyone else could do about it. "Admiral, the radiological alarm … the missiles are armed with nukes."

"_Gods in heaven,"_ Adama cursed. He had absolutely no idea what was happening, but ultimately, it didn't matter: Admiral William Adama had been taken as completely by surprise as the deskbound admirals who had overseen the destruction of the Colonies little more than a year before. He could only hope that, this time, the outcome would be different.

"Helm," Adama barked, "bring us about. Plot a course that will bring our port batteries into play. Don't worry about the heading … we'll take them ship to ship!"

_Galactica_ instantly turned hard to starboard. The two warships were less than five hundred kilometers apart, and the ancient battlestar began rapidly to close the range.

"Admiral," Sonja hesitantly pointed out, "more than half of the gunnery officers are currently down on the planet. I suggest that we cycle to auto fire, and use the centurions to feed the guns."

"Do it," Adama grimaced. Even with its cylon contingent, _Galactica_ was badly undermanned. Bill was acutely aware of the fact that he had been playing with fire for the last couple of months. To boost morale, and to slow down the alarming stream of retirement papers that had been crossing his desk, he had made a calculated decision to grant shore leave generously. The tactic had worked, but now it had come back to bite him in the ass.

The XO nodded to Amy. It would be up to the Eight to deploy their cannon for maximum effect—and Amy had come to them from the resurrection ship. Whatever virus the Ones had unleashed, she was not a carrier.

"_Cloud Nine_ is gone," Dionysia announced in an absolutely wooden voice. The icon on her DRADIS screen vanished as the transponder on the ship ceased to broadcast. "The detonation also took out freighter 212, that Colonial Movers vessel, and … _Diana_."

Adama winced with a pain so terrible that it almost doubled him over. _Gaeta,_ he thought; _Gaeta was in command of Diana …_

Wordlessly, Sonja walked over to D'Anna's station. The Three was in charge of internal security, and if the Six's suspicions proved correct, D'Anna was also going to have a battle to manage.

"Three, I want you to deploy the centurions. They are to secure the CIC, the hangar deck, the medical bay, Aft Damage Control, and Auxiliary Fire Control. I also want squads to sweep our decks … every causeway, every compartment … have them look everywhere. Any Eight whom they encounter with a weapon in hand is to be shot on sight."

D'Anna's eyes went wide. "Six," she whispered, "I'm not sure that the centurions will obey such an order. What is happening?"

"The Eights control the baseship, and until I am proven wrong, we shall proceed on the assumption that Cavil implanted a virus that would turn them against us. That virus has now been activated. Any Eight who transferred to _Galactica_ from the baseship has been similarly infected, and now constitutes a threat."

"_But there are thousands of Eights in the settlement, Six … thousands!"_

"I know," Sonja shrugged, "and one of them is the de facto President of the Colonies. But right now, that's not our problem. Three, make sure that the centurions understand: the Eights will destroy us, if they can."

Sonja turned away, and glanced up at the DRADIS screen overhead. There were noticeably fewer icons than there had been thirty seconds earlier.

"What else have we lost," she quietly asked.

"The _Baah Pakal_, the _McConnell_, the _Tora Bashiri_, the _Ziusudra _..." Adama was also staring hypnotically at the DRADIS display, which was now updating by the second. In his mind's eye, he saw the ships out in space … watched them explode … watched them die.

. . .

Philista Liu audibly groaned when she heard the siren, and then she began pounding the pillow in frustration. 

"_Not again," _she exclaimed. _"It's not fair! Why do they have to hold one of these frakking exercises every time we try to make love? Aargh!" _She returned to pounding the pillow.

Sharon climbed out of bed, and with the mechanical steps of someone in a deep trance, walked to the dresser. She opened the top drawer, and removed her sidearm. She turned around.

Philista had just gotten out of bed. She started to cross the room, but she paused in mid-stride when she saw the expression on Sharon's face. Her beautiful features were waxen, and her eyes, normally so expressive, were dead.

"_Sharon?"_

The Eight's only response was to pull the trigger, and blood geysered from Philista's chest. She fell backwards, collapsing onto the bed.

Sharon walked to the side of the bed and looked down, her face devoid of all emotion. She took aim, and pulled the trigger again. A second bullet exploded near Philista's heart, but the pain was little more than a vague sensation. The darkness was already closing in, and she was spiraling down—spiraling down into forever.

Sharon retreated to the living room, and settled into a comfortable chair. She would wait, now—wait for Marc to come home.

. . .

"Damn it, Sharon, quit fidgeting! How am I supposed to see what's going on in there if you won't keep still?"

Sharon and Tory had come early to the hospital for another round of prenatal checkups. Despite Doc Cottle's gruff manner and the cigarette that inevitably dangled from his fingers, Sharon normally enjoyed these outings. The fetal monitor showed the twins growing inside of her in such rich detail, and cylon pregnancies were still so rare that she treasured every moment, and committed it all to memory.

But not today.

"Something's wrong," she said to Tory; "I can feel it."

"Nonsense," Cottle growled. "I swear, you cylons are even worse hypochondriacs than your average human, and that's saying something! There's nothing going on that should concern you. The twins are doing fine."

"It's not the twins," Sharon murmured. Her eyes were closed, and she was frowning, concentrating on the feeling, trying to pinpoint the source. "It's me … there's something wrong with me."

"Oh, for the …"

"What is it?" Tory cut Cottle off in mid-complaint. She knew Sharon far better than the elderly physician ever would.

"There's a binary code that's just been triggered in one of the synaptic relays that links the organic and inorganic parts of my brain." Sharon winced, and reached up to press her fingers hard into her scalp: this was the first time that she had ever experienced a headache. "It's muddled; I think the hormones that my pregnancy has stimulated are slicing it up … deleting some of it …"

Sharon suddenly looked at Tory with something approaching horror in her eyes. "It's ordering me to pick up a gun and kill you. Then, I'm supposed to kill every other human female within reach."

"Is that all?" Cottle breathed a sigh of relief. "Sharon, this sort of emotional explosion normally follows the delivery. It's rare for it to happen before the birth, but it's not unknown."

"You don't understand, Doctor. It's a virus … a computer virus. It's been lying dormant inside of me, but now …"

"_Cavil,"_ Tory swore. _"It's got to be Cavil!"_

In the distance, a siren began to blare.

. . .

"Dee," Adama blared, "send the following to all ships: 'execute jump to emergency standby coordinates. _Galactica_ will cover your withdrawal'."

"Aye, aye, Sir!"

On the DRADIS screen above his head, the admiral could only watch numbly as more and more icons flared and died. _Rhadamanthys_, _Kara Nixal_, and _Tauranian Traveller_ were gone now, just so much radiated debris …

"They're not shooting at us," Bill murmured out loud; "why aren't they shooting at us?"

"They're trying to pin the population on the planet by eliminating as much of our transport capacity as they can," Sonja surmised. She was hovering over Amy's shoulder at the tactical desk, one eye fixed on the DRADIS display while the other evaluated the Eight's work.

With most of the trained gunnery officers absent from their stations, Amy was drawing fully upon her cylon computational skills to cobble together an impromptu battle plan that relied heavily upon the speed and durability of the centurions under Adama's command. She had already decided to ignore the missile batteries and throw everything they had at the baseship's central pylon. Taking out the control center and killing the hybrid would be the quickest way to end this.

"Admiral, I have a firing solution," Amy called out. "Targeting all guns on the central pylon," she added.

"_Fire at will," _Adama ordered. He was desperate to get _Galactica_ into the fight, to buy time for the civvies to power up their engines … to end the carnage.

"Auto fire selected," Amy acknowledged, and … "port batteries are fully engaged!" _The centurions,_ she thought, _without the centurions, we couldn't do this…_

"Helm," Bill ordered, "come to course 090, but stay on their negative axis." He hadn't been able to stop the first wave of missiles, but maybe he could do something about the second. He knew that the basestar's massive arms would continue to rotate on the ship's central axis, and that each would launch a single, coordinated salvo against the civilian fleet, then pause to reload. This was now a race against time—time that was to be measured in seconds.

"Course 090, Admiral."

"Very good … steady as she goes."

"Admiral," the XO felt obliged to note, "this course … the baseship won't be able to ignore us. We'll be in the middle of their firing solution."

"That's the general idea," Adama retorted. "We can take the hits; the civvies can't. We have to buy them some time."

_Galactica _and the baseship were squaring off at less than two hundred kilometers, and in the vacuum of space there was nothing to absorb the kinetic energy of _Galactia's _projectile weapons. The battlestar shuddered as Amy steadily fired the portside guns, the salvos repeatedly ripping into the baseship's vulnerable hide.

Adama studied the DRADIS, focusing now on the battle at hand rather than the casualties that his command had already suffered. The baseship had not launched its Raiders, and without them it was essentially defenseless. It was only a matter of time before the cylon vessel was reduced to slag.

_What the hell is going on, _Adama asked himself yet again. _And why aren't the frakkers following standard cylon battle doctrine? Why haven't they deployed their Raiders to attack us and defend their ship? What the hell is going on?_

"_Incoming nukes," _Dionysia yelled.

Adama calmly picked up the telephone, and keyed for a shipwide broadcast.

"Attention, all hands; we have nukes inbound. Brace for impact."

. . .

Apollo quickly gave up trying to contact _Galactica_. He had very little time; the Cavils would have _Colonial One _in their sights, so he had to get clear before their centurions attacked. He hastily switched frequencies.

"This is Artemis Six; authenticate."

"This is Charioteer," Apollo replied. "_Maelstrom_; I repeat, _Maelstrom_."

"Acknowledged; what is the protocol?"

"_Harvest moon_; I repeat, _Harvest moon_."

"_Harvest moon_ acknowledged." Artemis closed the connection, and returned to the kitchen. Apollo had caught the unlikely trio who controlled an entire army of centurions and Raiders at a leisurely breakfast.

"The Cavils have found us," she informed Hephaestus and Aphrodite in a matter-of-fact tone. "For the time being, we hold our forces in reserve."

. . .

"_Attention all hands, we have nukes inbound. Brace for impact."_

Shelly's eyes went wide, and she wrapped her arms protectively around her newborn daughter. She looked at Creusa with an expression that mingled regret with resignation. "The Ones have found us," she simply remarked.

"They might have waited until Cyrene finished her breakfast," the Six caustically replied. Her daughter was suckling hungrily at her breast, and she didn't seem likely to finish anytime soon.

"Lee's on the surface," Shelly gently reminded her.

"I know," Creusa softly answered. "He has a job to do, and he'll do it. He'll be fine."

"He may need our help."

"He'll be fine," Creusa repeated more firmly. "But if he does get into trouble, I'll find a way to rescue him."

"You were always our finest warrior …"

"A veritable Amazon," Creusa smiled, "although I'm not about to cut off one of my breasts. Cyrene wouldn't like that … she wouldn't like it at all!"

_Lee has never seen me at my worst, _Creusa reflected. _He doesn't know the lengths to which I am capable of going. But if it comes to it, I will tear that planet apart to save my husband!_

. . .

Angela raced back to the fleet, and as soon as she was within wireless range signaled the baseship.

"The Ones got her ahead of us," she reported. "Their forces were concentrated in the rift, but they've now jumped."

"Eight," D'Anna queried in return, "were they scattering to continue the search for our fleet?"

"Negative," Angela sadly replied. "They recalled all of their Raiders, and they jumped as a coherent unit. They've found New Caprica."

"Did they post a rear guard?" Natalie held her breath waiting for the answer.

"Negative … no rear guard."

"Then get back here as fast as you can! We can reach New Caprica in two jumps."

Natalie turned to D'Anna, who controlled communications with the rest of the fleet.

"Three, notify the others. We are jumping to New Caprica, and the Ones will be waiting for us. We are going into battle."

. . .

Apollo dashed out of _Colonial One_. He looked up into the sky, fully expecting to see an armada of enemy Raiders overhead, but there was nothing in the air. So, Lee had time—how best to use it? He quickly ran through his options. Billy Keikeya would see the President safely to the command bunker, but what about Tom Zarek? Lee briefly toyed with the idea of going off to find the Vice-President, but instantly dismissed it. Zarek had refused the traditional security team, relying instead upon his buddies in the Sons of Ares to protect him from the admittedly long list of people who wanted to see the former Sagittaron terrorist dead. He would just have to go to ground on his own—and Lee had no doubt that he would never be found unless he wanted to be.

"_What in the name of the gods …"_

Lee turned around, to see Wallace Gray exiting the ship. But New Caprica's finance and industrial minister wasn't looking at Lee Adama. He was looking past him.

Lee turned around, expecting to see centurions charging their way. But the area surrounding _Colonial One_ was empty and silent.

Except that, in the distance, there were bodies scattered on the ground. Lee focused on them for the first time, and then he noticed something else that sent a chill up his spine.

All of the bodies were human. And with but one exception, they were female.

In the distance, he heard gunfire—not the heavy thud of the centurions' rounds but the snap, crackle, pop of small arms fire.

He suddenly realized that the fighting was already underway, but it was occurring inside the settlement, not overhead. And that could mean only one thing: some or all of the Cylons had turned against them.

. . .

"Admiral, our Vipers are in the tubes, and the Raiders and Heavy Raiders are ready to launch. What are your orders?"

Sonja Six look expectantly at Adama. She was the CAG as well as the XO, and left to her own devices she would already have given the order to launch. She did not understand why the admiral was hesitating.

Bill continued to study the DRADIS display while he ran his options through his mind. How many times had he delivered this particular sermon: when you're in over your head, follow your instincts … go with what you know. Not a single Raider had sortied from the baseship, so their point defense was non-existent. Whoever was in command over there was virtually begging him to launch his own fighters in an all-out attack.

The admiral shook his head. "They're baiting us," he said to Sonja. "They want us to commit our forces before they put theirs on the battlefield. It's Kobol all over again."

Bill was thinking of the way Cynthia Six had deftly outfoxed him in that engagement, springing a well-conceived trap only after he had committed the last of his reserves. If Kara hadn't shown up with her baseship, _Galactica_ would have been lost with all hands.

"You think that the Ones are out there, and that they'll sacrifice the baseship in order to draw us out?" Sonja pondered the admiral's reasoning, and then she thought about the Cavils' infatuation with convoluted schemes. "You may well be right," she concluded.

A warhead struck home, frying still more of _Galactica's_ much abused armor plating. The tactical display in the CIC shattered, sending wicked shards of glass flying outward. Electrical fires erupted at several stations, and Dualla was hurled violently from her chair as her entire console exploded. Her head bounced hard off the deck.

Adama rushed to her side. Dee was bleeding steadily from a deep gash in her right temple.

"I'm … I'm all right, Sir," she managed to stutter.

"Get medical and damage control teams up here on the double," Adama ordered without turning around. Dee's eyes refused to focus; in all likelihood, she had suffered a concussion.

_Galactica's _port batteries continued to fire, every round now finding its target. Slowly, the baseship was starting to come apart.

. . .

Lieutenant Marc Jacobs of the 3654th Colonial Marines looked questionably at Peter Terence. The two young officers were hard at work, Terence on the conduits that would carry the electrical wiring throughout the structure, and Jacobs on the piping that would connect the communal toilets to the nearby sewer. Even with a team of skilled enlisted personnel to do much of the grunt work, they had been at it for hours.

In the background, the siren continued to blare. Lieutenant Terence replayed Apollo's announcement in his mind, trying to get a feel for the tone of his voice. "This isn't a drill, is it?" He desperately hoped that he was wrong, but Terence had been through enough alerts to sense the difference between exercise and the real thing.

"No, I don't think so," Marc agreed. He eased his tool belt to the rough concrete floor; Terence was doing the same.

"Then, we need to get to our duty stations," Peter concluded. He dismissed the work party, and the two engineering officers pulled themselves out of the partially finished basement and rushed off in different directions. Marc Jacobs would have to cross virtually the whole of the settlement, and then the open fields that surrounded so much of it. He had to get to the forest, but first, he had to get home.

. . .

Sharon surveyed the group gathered around her. They had come in singly and in pairs, most of them more bewildered than afraid. It wasn't hard to assess the prevailing sentiment: even for Apollo, two alerts in a matter of hours was way over the top.

"Where are the Lius," she asked of no one in particular.

"At this time of the day," another Eight smirked; "where do you think?"

That brought a round of knowing chuckles.

"Marc's in the settlement," Helo explained. He was holding Hera comfortably in his arms. "He told me last night that he needed to make an early start on a construction project that's been eating up all of his time. He may not be able to reach us."

"So, you think that this is the real thing?" Esther Cohen was talking to the lanky ECO, but her eyes were scanning what little sky peeked through the dense canopy of leaves overhead. There was absolutely no sign of enemy activity, and she was personally convinced that Lee Adama was once again taking his duties far too seriously.

"Yeah," Karl said, "I do."

"Well, where are they," Esther demanded. She passed David to one of the Eights, who spent so much time looking after the hybrid baby that she could have qualified as a nanny. Esther put both hands on her hips, and speared Helo with an angry glare. If this was still another evacuation exercise, she was prepared to get seriously pissed.

"Right now," one of _Galactica's_ former Viper pilots surmised, "there's probably a battle going on in orbit. We'll find out soon enough who's won, but everyone here knows that our job is to prepare for the worst." He looked meaningfully at Sharon Agathon.

"I agree," Sharon decisively remarked. She took out a key, opened the shed door, and began passing out handguns. The bulky weapons were automatics, and everyone removed their clips to double check the load.

One of the Eights, moving with the exaggerated slowness of a sleepwalker, flicked off the safety and chambered a load. Wordlessly, she turned to face Esther Cohen, and stretched out her arm. She fired once, and against a stationary target at such close range, she could hardly miss. The round exploded in Esther's brain.

. . .

It had begun with isolated shots … echoes that travelled up and down _Galactica's_ deserted corridors. Shelly Adama walked to her husband's desk, and buzzed the CIC. One of the privileges of being the Admiral's wife and living in his quarters was that she had total access to communications.

"CIC … Rhodope," one of the Sixes tersely announced.

"Sister, this is Shelly. What is happening?"

"We are under attack; the baseship has turned against us."

Shelly took a moment to digest the news, and she looked meaningfully at Creusa. "I see," she hesitantly replied. And what is …"

A volley of gunfire erupted outside the hatch—the thunderous roar of the heavy cannons built into the arms of every centurion. Two of them were permanently stationed just beyond the hatchway.

"And what is happening on this ship" she calmly continued when the firing subsided.

"We are receiving reports that the Eights who came to us from the baseship are attacking the human crew. The other Eights are unaffected, so we have concluded that we are dealing with a computer virus that the Cavils planted before allowing Hoshi and Baltar to capture the ship. Just a moment; the Admiral wishes to speak with you."

"Are you all right," Bill anxiously inquired.

"We seem to be under attack, but the centurions have the situation under control. Do you want us to make our way to the CIC?"

"No," Bill said in hushed tones as he continued to watch the DRADIS overhead. "They're hitting us with nukes, so it's not safe to wander around the ship. Stay there, and get the children down on the floor. I'll send more centurions to reinforce you … but what … why are they attacking you?"

"The Cavils would prefer to capture us, but if all else fails …"

"They'll settle for seeing you dead." Bill finished the sentence for her. Shelly and Creusa would resurrect, but they would be cut off from _Galactica_, separated from their babies. Callista and Cyrene were the real targets.

"Do you remember the code for the weapons locker," he finally asked. When he had first assumed command, Adama had cached weapons in his quarters—two handguns, and a marine assault rifle with a half dozen spare clips. He knew how badly the Cavils wanted to get their hands on Shelly, and he was determined not to let that happen.

"Yes," Shelly said.

"If it comes to it, let Creusa do the fighting. But you cannot allow the Eights to take the children—not under any circumstances. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Shelly again replied, and there was ice in her voice. She had long ago steeled herself against this moment. She would kill her child before she would let the Ones have her.

Shelly hung up. "The baseship was a stalking horse," she explained to Creusa, "and we let it inside our defenses. The Eights are trying to kill us." She laid Callista gently on the carpeted floor, and walked directly to the weapons locker. She entered the combination, and began awkwardly passing the contents to her sister. Creusa seemed completely unaware of the fact that she was still nursing her daughter at her breast.

Creusa's eyes glittered when she spotted the assault rifle. _"All the Eights," _she pressed. Creusa was thinking of Amy. Adama's affection for that particular copy was written all over his aged face, and Amy was a critical part of the CIC staff. The Admiral was alive, but was Amy? How many betrayals could one human survive?

Shelly passed the rifle to her sister, who in turn passed Cyrene to Shelly. The baby instantly started crying, while Creusa slapped a clip into place. She was good to go.

"Just the Eights from the baseship," Shelly stressed. She was also thinking of Amy, who idolized her husband. With Saul Tigh down on the planet, Bill had become a surrogate father to many of the female cylons aboard _Galactica_. His ability to love them all, and to do so without conditions or reservations, never ceased to amaze her. If the aging battlestar was a family, it was the nobility of Bill Adama's spirit that knitted that family together.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Creusa murmured as she bent over to kiss her daughter's tiny forehead. "I know you're still hungry, but mommy's got to go kill some people."

"_What? No,"_ Shelly blurted out. _"Bill wants us to remain here and guard the children!"_

"That's a job for one, sister." The lust for battle, so long suppressed, was welling up inside Creusa Adama. This was her true purpose in life. "It has never been our philosophy to wait for others to attack us: we carry the battle to them!" And without another word, Creusa opened the hatch and went to war.

. . .

The siren continued to wail, its shrill tone somehow plaintive in the dim morning light. Ellen Tigh knew that she had to move, but her feet were rooted to the ground.

"_Damn it, Ellen … MOVE!"_

Saul was in her face, furious, the spittle flying off his lips. She had never seen him so agitated, not even back on Earth, when it was all falling apart …

"_Damn you, woman … MOVE!"_

He was wild-eyed, the gun fluttering uselessly in his hand. He looked at the bodies.

Ellen was transfixed. A woman- one of the human females- had been hurrying towards them, a baby in one arm while she brutally pulled a little girl along at her side. An Eight had stepped out of the shadows. She had shot the woman in the side of the head. _She couldn't have felt anything, _a tiny voice had cried out inside Ellen's brain; _couldn't have suffered_!

But the nightmare wasn't over. The Eight had shot the little girl, and like a broken doll, she had crumpled into the dirt at her mother's side. Then she had shot the baby.

The Cylon had turned to look at her parents.

And Saul had pumped four rounds into her chest.

"_Would somebody please turn off that frakking siren,"_ Ellen screamed. The sounds of gunfire were arrhythmic, but they never went completely away. It was a futile gesture, but she pressed the palms of her hands hard against her ears. She just wanted it all to stop.

"Frakkin' cylons" Saul muttered. "I knew it all along … never trusted the bastards … knew they'd turn on us …"

"_Saul, they're our daughters," _Ellen protested,_ "our children!"_

"_They're the enemy," _Saul screamed in return; _"they're the frakking enemy! Now, move it, gods damn it, or I swear to all that's holy that I'll shoot you myself!"_

Saul Tigh grabbed his wife's arm, and began brutally to drag her down the street. Like a puppet whose strings had been partially severed, the marionette that had once been Dr. Ellen Tigh stumbled along in his wake.

. . .

Sharon Agathon didn't pause to ask questions. She didn't hesitate at all. She simply pointed the gun at her sister and pulled the trigger. Twice.

Still holding Hera, Karl Agathon gaped at his wife. There was a Three standing next to Sharon, and the way she was staring …

Karl looked down at the body, and then back up at Sharon. _She's carrying my child …_

It was the only thought that his dazed brain could manage. At this point, it wouldn't have surprised him in the least if his wife had sprouted wings, or maybe a second head …

"Well, there goes my theory that one Eight is the same as another," the Three smirked as she gingerly poked at the corpse with her toe. She was the first to recover her senses.

"_Wha … what … Sharon?" _Helo had to struggle to get the words out. _"Why did she … why aren't you …"_

The dead Eight had been in their home, had played with his daughter. _She had held Hera in her arms …_

"She came here on the baseship," Eight commented. She was looking at the Three, seeking confirmation. She pressed David tightly against her chest, and there was a feral look in her eyes. David was her child now, and she would kill anyone who even remotely seemed to threaten her baby.

"The baseship," the Three sighed as the truth began to dawn.

"Would someone like to lay it out for those of us who are too stupid to figure it out on our own," the Viper pilot raged.

Karl looked at him, trying to remember his name. He had known it once. Why couldn't he remember it now?

"Were machines, Xander … _programmable machines." _There was a pitying look in the Three's eyes. She liked the young human with his engaging smile and chiseled good looks. There was so much potential in him, and he was resilient. She knew that he would bounce back. In time, he would make an excellent mate.

_Xander … Xander Gage, that's his name; Xander's short for Alexander …_

Helo shook his head, trying to break free of the trance. "The Cavils controlled that baseship until Hoshi and the Eights took it away from them," he explained. "Or so we thought, but it was all a ruse … a trap."

"Then what are we supposed to do," Gage fumed, frustration as well as anger overwhelming him. "Do we shoot every Eight just on general principles?"

The Three laughed. The sound of it was incredibly bitter.

He ignored her. "Or maybe just the ones carrying guns? _Or do we have to wait for them to start shooting at us? How in the name of the gods are we supposed to tell the good guys from the bad guys?"_

A high-pitched, keening sound caused Karl to look up. A flight of Raiders passed directly overhead, on a bearing that would position the fighters above the nearby settlement.

"Ours? Theirs?" Helo directed the question to everyone and no one.

Sharon shrugged her shoulders, and reached for Hera. There was no way to tell, but Gage was right: assume the worst.

Sharon Agathon turned away, and began to walk into the welcoming embrace of the shadowy forest.

. . .

Another missile slammed into _Galactica's_ hull, and an alarm began to blare, but Adama's eyes never left the DRADIS display. More icons were disappearing as he watched. The _Picon Princess_ was gone now, and with her _Hexare_ and _Swordfish_. Under his breath, Bill began praying fervently to gods in whom he had never believed, seeking divine deliverance for the souls on board all their ships.

_They must have jumped, _he kept telling himself. _We've ruptured the baseship's hull in a thousand places … the damn ship's coming apart at the seams …_

Gigantic fireballs engulfed two of the cylon vessel's massive arms, and bodies were being methodically spewed out into space through the holes that gutted the connecting pylon. Though Adama could not know it, the enemy's control room was a sheet of flames and the hybrid already dead, the atmosphere sucked out of her chamber less than a minute before.

Secondary explosions began to consume the remaining arms as the baseship's missile batteries were finally silenced.

"_New DRADIS contacts," _Dionysia screamed. "Two … no, make that three … baseships, and a resurrection ship …"

_It's got to be Natalie,_ Adama swore to himself. _Zeus Almighty, let it be Natalie …_

"The baseships are launching Raiders," Dionysia announced as she struggled to contain her excitement.

"Missiles inbound," Amy yelled. "All three baseships have fired, and they have good tracks on both us and the remaining civilian ships."

"Helm," Adama ordered, "come hard right, and bring us up thirty degrees. Gunnery officer, prepare to engage!"

"Admiral, this is suicide." Sonja Six was blunt. One look at the DRADIS display had been enough to convince her that their tactical situation was untenable. "The enemy baseships are in staggered orbits, both above and below us. We can't go after one without leaving _Galactica_ fully exposed to the firepower of the other two. It's time for us to get out of here."

"Abandon the planet," Adama growled; "abandon the civvies!"

"Sir, we can't help them if we're dead."

"Admiral," Dionysia interrupted, "DRADIS can't keep up with the traffic, but I'm estimating more than a thousand Raiders heading for the surface, and at least as many bearing down on the fleet. There are Heavy Raiders in both complements."

Adama looked at his cylon XO. "Centurions," he quietly asked.

Sonja nodded in agreement, but her eyes never left the Admiral's. "Boarding parties to try and capture _Galactica_, and an all-out invasion of the planet."

"There are so few civilian ships left out there," Adama protested. "We can't afford to lose more … we've got to buy them some time."

Sonja stole another quick glance at the DRADIS overhead before once more staring hard into the Admiral's eyes. "Sir, there's no more time. We have to go."

. . .

Laura Roslin stood in the doorway of her school and stared fixedly up into the sky. It was teeming with Raiders, but they were high above. It was the Heavy Raiders dropping rapidly towards the surface that caused her heart to leap into her throat. She turned away, and began urging the students and teachers to return to their classrooms. The settlement's streets had become a charnel pit. Even from her limited vantage point, she could see that there were bodies everywhere.

_The cylons are back,_ she thought to herself, _but they're not using nukes. They want something else._

She thought about the breeding farms that the resistance had uncovered back on Caprica, and her blood ran cold.

. . .

Marc Jacobs stumbled through the door and almost fell as he entered his house. The Heavy Raiders approaching the surface could mean one thing and one thing only: the Cavils were deploying their mechanical troops in an all-out invasion—conquest rather than annihilation.

"Marc?" It was Sharon's voice, coming out of the shadows in the living room.

"Sharon? Sharon, what are you doing here? Why haven't you and Phi followed the evacuation plan? Why aren't you at the rendezvous point?"

Sharon stepped out of the shadows, and a cold chill worked its way up and down Marc's spine. This was Sharon, all right; _this was his Sharon_. But there was something wrong- something in the way she was moving.

"Marc, I want to have a baby," she said in a wooden voice that caused the hairs on the back of Marc's neck literally to stand on end.

The Eight raised her arms to embrace him, and instinctively, Marc backed away.

"Won't you give me a baby?" As he continued slowly to retreat, she continued remorselessly to advance, her arms still outstretched, still trying to …

. . .

"Spool up the FTL's," Adama reluctantly commanded. "And Dionysia … double check the coordinates. In this soup, we'll never find what's left of the fleet if we get them wrong."

The Admiral looked around his command. There were other humans in the room, but they no longer constituted the majority of his senior staff. Somewhere along the way, and without really thinking through the consequences of his actions, he had delivered all of his people into the hands of their one-time enemies. But it was far too late to retreat from that decision. All of a sudden it came to him that, deep down inside, he had agreed with John Bierns from the beginning: it wasn't enough simply to end the war between man and machine. Humanity could not survive without the cylons. If human beings could not nurture and protect their children- _all of their children- _then what was the point of surviving?

Bill Adama thought about his wife and daughter, and he thought about his larger family, the men and women of _Galactica_. He no longer cared whether they had been born, or stepped out of a vat. It just didn't matter. He thought about the people now trapped on the surface below, and he wasn't sure whether the occupation would prove harder for man or machine. It would be difficult for both. It might even prove unendurable.

"We're leaving," he said as his eyes tracked from one cylon or human face to the next. "But we'll be back." There was absolute conviction in his voice. "We're going to bring our people home."


End file.
